The Expendables 1971
by JJ Rust
Summary: What if The Expendables took place in 1971? Who would star in it? How about John Wayne, Sean Connery, Clint Eastwood, Bruce Lee, Steve McQueen & Richard Roundtree. They must battle a group of KGB and East German Stasi operatives to secure a piece of advanced technology that could shift the balance of power in the world.
1. Chapter 1

**THE EXPENDABLES 1971**

**STARRING:**

**John Wayne as Duke Stryker**

**Clint Eastwood as Will Saxon**

**Sean Connery as Frank Fisher**

**Bruce Lee as Han**

**Steve McQueen as Colt Clay**

**Richard Roundtree as Max Harper**

**Featuring:**

**Chuck Connors as Merrick**

_Guatemala, September 5th, 1971_

_It is time to show America how serious I am._

Commander Estrada strode out of his tent and into the clearing. The jungle canopy cut down on the brutal sun. Still the humidity wrapped around his hard, wiry frame and coated him with sweat.

But he was used to it, unlike the spoiled brats kneeling before him. He put his hands on his hips and scowled at them. Two men and a woman. All in their early twenties, all with long hair. Estrada still couldn't get over that. No real man would wear his hair that long.

Hippies, the _Yanquis_ called them. They claimed to fight injustice, to lead a revolution.

Those thoughts made Estrada snort. What did these pieces of filth know about fighting and revolutions? They grew up in fancy homes, had their capitalist parents drive them around in big cars, wore expensive clothes and stuffed their faces with mounds of food. They knew nothing of struggle. They held signs and listened to music while he and the men of the People's Revolutionary Faction fought and died for their beliefs.

Now the Americans would see that the PRF was willing to kill for its beliefs.

"Is the camera ready?"

"Yes, Sir." One of his soldiers, Miranda, nodded.

"Start filming."

Miranda pointed the half-oval shaped Auricon CM-72 at the _yanquis. _All three were sweaty, filthy and covered in bruises and mosquito bites.

Estrada turned to Miranda and gestured to point the camera's large lens toward him.

"Americans. I have been patient long enough with you. I ask you for six million dollars to spare the lives of these children and what do you do? You negotiate. You plead. You sit on piles of money, yet refuse to give up even a handful to save your own. You prove that greed is more important to you than your own sons and daughters. Your greed is the reason why millions around the world live in squalor."

Estrada leaned closer to the camera. "I have explained what the consequences of failing to meet our demands would be. Did you think that the men of a small, poor country could not seriously challenge the mighty giant that is the United States? Now you will see how serious we are."

He turned to another soldier, Velasquez, and jerked his head toward the _yanquis. _Velasquez grinned and walked up to Estrada. "Which one?" he asked in a whisper.

"One of the boys. I want to save the girl for last, for obvious reasons." Estrada leered.

A sick smile also formed on Velasquez's face. He walked up to the captives, clutching a long, slender AVS-36 rifle.

"Please," the girl, Cynthia, begged. "Please don't."

"Don't do this, man." The boy with the long black hair, Ron, shivered. "K-Killing isn't the answer."

"We don't like our government, just like you," said the other boy, Paul. "We can work together. We can -"

"Shut up and face your death like a man," barked Estrada. "If you even are a man."

Paul cried. So did Cynthia. So did Ron. Velasquez still grinned, moving the barrel of his rifle from one captive to the other. Their sobbing grew louder. The 20 other PRF soldiers around the camp looked on in amusement.

Estrada thought he heard a muffled _pop._ Blood and brains shot out the side of Velasquez's head. He crumpled to the ground. Cynthia gawked at the hole in his head and screamed.

Estrada blinked. Had that actually happened? Was Velasquez really dead?

The other PRF soldiers looked around the jungle, rifles sweeping the treeline.

Another _pop._ A gory red hole replaced Miranda's left eye. He fell to the ground.

Estrada reached for the AK-47 slung over his shoulder.

That's when all hell broke loose.

A tall, rugged man in green fatigues jumped up from behind a bush, Thompson machine gun in hand. The weapon chattered. Four PRF soldiers twisted and fell.

"WAAAAAAA!"

A lean Asian man flew through the air. His foot rammed into the chest of a soldier, knocking him down. Two other PRF soldiers swung toward him, rifles raised.

In a flash, the Asian pulled out two sais and flung them. The blades pierced the hearts of both men.

"AAAAAIIY!" The Asian sent another soldier sprawling with a back kick.

Estrada ran for the communications tent. He threw back the flap. Moreno, the radioman, stared at him with wide, fearful eyes.

"Don't just sit there, you fool! Call for reinforcements!"

Moreno nodded. He turned to the set, which sat on an old folding table.

A guttural chatter cut through the air. A heavy machine gun. Holes burst in the side of the tent. Estrada threw himself on the ground. Rounds tore through the radio set, and through Moreno. He threw his arms over his head and collapsed.

Heart pumping, Estrada crawled to a field radio next to the table. He looked it over. It wasn't damaged. He grabbed the receiver.

"Cobra to Stormfront! Cobra to Stormfront! I have heatstroke. Repeat, I have heatstroke!"

Having given the code that the camp had been overrun, Estrada threw down the receiver and pulled out his machete. He hacked at the rear of the tent. He had to get away. The Revolution couldn't afford to lose a leader like him.

He slapped at the torn canvass and started to go through it when movement caught his attention.

A stocky black man with a cigar clenched between his teeth entered the tent. He wore a bandolier of ammunition and carried an M1919 .30 caliber machine gun. Smoke wafted from its barrel.

"Goin' somewhere, buddy?"

Ice shot up Estrada's spine. He felt his knees tremble.

The black man brought up the machine gun.

Estrada dove through the hole in the tent. He scrambled to his feet and ran into the jungle.

Suddenly a tall man with a round face and dark eyes appeared before him.

"In a hurry, are we?" he said with a British accent.

Estrada gaped at him. He looked over his shoulder to see the black man come out the tent.

Trapped! How could this have happened? He couldn't die here, not before he overthrew the corrupt government and empowered the peasants.

He turned back to the British man. With a primal scream, he brought up the machete and charged him.

Six rounds from a Sten submachine gun ripped apart Estrada's torso. He was dead before he hit the ground.

**XXXXX**

Duke Stryker surveyed the PRF camp with satisfaction. Not a single pinko rebel was standing. He checked his watch. One minute, five seconds from start to finish. Not bad at all.

"Han, check on the hostages."

The former Hong Kong cop jogged over to the three kids and examined them. "Some bruises and lots of mosquito bites. No signs of malaria. They look fine despite the circumstances they endured."

Duke nodded. Those kids had been extremely lucky. He'd been in enough jungles to know there were dozens of other things that could kill you besides commie slimeballs with guns.

_They should've stayed home. _Instead, these do-gooders felt the need to come to Guatemala with food and jugs of fresh water for a bunch of poor villagers. And look where it got them. Kidnapped and held for ransom. Maybe this little near-death experience would straighten them out. Maybe they'd go back home and show their parents the respect they deserved.

And maybe those two boys would cut their damn hair!

"Hey, Duke!"

Duke saw Max Harper walking toward him, .30 cal resting on his shoulder. Behind him was Frank Fisher, Sten Gun dangling at his side.

"We may have a problem," said Max. "I shot the shit out of their radio, but they had a field telephone lying on the ground. I think that Estrada asshole got off a message."

"Terrific." Duke frowned. "Frank. Get hold of Colt. Tell him to get his ass to the LZ now."

"Right." Frank reached around his back and grabbed the receiver of his radio/telephone, or R/T. "X-Ray Four, this is X-Ray Two. Ready for pick-up."

"Yeah, about that," replied Colt Clay. "We might have a little problem."

Duke's brow furrowed. He took the receiver from Frank. "What kind of problem?"

"The alternator's acting up. It's not puttin' out enough juice."

"Can you fix it?"

"Of course I can fix it."

"I mean can you fix it in a hurry?" asked Duke.

Colt paused. "Um, sure I can."

That answer didn't inspire a lot of confidence in Duke. "Then stop flappin' your gums and get that chopper in the air. We might have company soon."

"Gotcha."

Duke gave the receiver back to Frank and turned to Han. "Get those hostages untied and get 'em up. We gotta move."

Han took out a knife and cut through the ropes binding the hostages' wrists and ankles.

"Are we ready to go?"

Duke spun around. An unsmiling man with a weathered face stood a foot away. Twigs, leaves and grass were attached to his fatigues.

"Cripes sake, Saxon. How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that?"

Will Saxon didn't respond, just gave him that brooding look of his.

Duke grunted. He probably shouldn't complain too much. Will's ability to sneak around like a cat was probably what made him a top sniper in the Marine Corps.

"To answer your question, yeah. But it looks like Estrada called in more of his commie friends."

"Swell."

Once the hostages were on their feet, they headed into the jungle. Frank had point, while Max covered the rear. Several times they had to hack through the dense foliage with machetes. Duke wished they didn't have to do that. Any half-assed soldier would be able to pick up their trail. But right now, speed was of the essence.

They trekked a mile-and-a-half before they came to a clearing. Before them was a small hill with a dirt road running by it a quarter-mile to the east. Duke gritted his teeth every time he thought about that road. The damn thing led directly to one of three PRF camps in Guatemala's Escuintla region.

And, of course, it had to be their biggest camp.

But Duke needed an LZ as close to the PRF headquarters camp as possible, in case the captives were too injured or exhausted to travel far.

_At least we're prepared if we run into trouble._

The group jogged up the hill, the captives keeping up better than Duke expected. Though more than once, Han or Will had to help them along.

When they reached the top, Duke, Frank and Han hurried to a length of green, leafy camouflage netting. They pulled it back to reveal a trench with an earthen berm in front of it they had dug the night before.

"Company's coming," announced Max.

Duke let go of the netting and raised his binoculars. A convoy of two jeeps, two M37 trucks and two old pick-up trucks that looked held together by spit and bailing wire came down the road. He counted roughly thirty PRF soldiers jammed into the vehicles. One of those soldiers stood in the open bed of an M-37, staring through binoculars.

Staring right at him.

"They've spotted us. Everyone in the trench."

The group jumped or slid into the trench.

"Frank. You ready with our little surprise?"

The Brit held up a boxy device. "Just give the word."

Clutching his Thompson, Duke peeked over the top of the berm. The convoy stopped at the base of the hill. PRF troops spilled out of the vehicles, carrying an array of Russian-made weapons, from World War One vintage Mosin-Nagant bolt-action rifles to more modern AK-47 automatic rifles. They made their way up the hill, bunched together in groups of four or five.

"Frank." Duke turned to him.

"Just a bit further."

The PRF kept coming. Fifty yards from the trench. Forty.

"Frank," Duke said in an urgent whisper.

"I know."

Thirty yards.

"Fra-"

"I think that's close enough."

Frank's thumb came down on the detonator.

Sharp cracks erupted from the ground, spewing dirt and grass . . .

. . . and 2,800 little steel balls from the four Claymore mines Frank planted the night before.

More than a dozen PRF soldiers collapsed, their bodies shredded into bloody chunks of meat.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Duke climbed out of the trench. Many of the surviving PRF soldiers lay on the ground, some injured, some hoping to avoid any other projectiles.

Duke and his men charged down the hill. Two commie soldiers pushed themselves to their feet. Duke fired two quick bursts from his Thompson. Both soldiers fell on their faces, never to rise again.

Max hefted his .30 cal. Yellow tracers flew out the barrel. Huge red holes exploded across the torsos of two soldiers. A third rose nearby. Max rammed the machine gun's stock into the soldier's gut, then drove an elbow into the back of his neck.

"WAAAAA!" Han knocked down a soldier with a palm strike to the face. He howled, spun and kicked another soldier in the face. Han pulled two throwing stars from his pouch and flung them in rapid succession. Each one struck a PRF soldier in the throat.

Will cracked another soldier in the jaw with the butt of his M-14 sniper rifle. He turned to find a Guatemalan who could be older than 15. The teen held an AK-47 with trembling hands.

Will glared at him. "If you shoot that thing, you better make damn sure you hit me."

The young rebel swallowed. He dropped the rifle and took off running.

The gunfire tapered off. Duke scanned the area. No PRF soldiers were left standing.

"Well, that wasn't so tough." Max grinned.

"Perhaps. But it's about to get a lot tougher." Frank nodded toward the road.

Duke turned. His body tensed.

Four M3 half-tracks rolled toward them. Each one carried between six to ten PRF soldiers. They also carried two .50 caliber machine guns.

"Back to the trench!" yelled Duke.

The five men dashed back up the hill. Han flew past Duke. So did Max. So did Frank and Will. Duke pumped his legs hard, trying to keep up.

It was a bitch getting old.

Duke dove into the trench just as he heard the deep chugging of the .50 calibers. He just missed landing on one of the male captives, Paul, as the big rounds tore into the earth and chopped through the berm.

"Man, where the hell's our ride?" hollered Max.

"That's what I aim to find out." Duke grabbed the receiver from Frank's R/T unit. "Colt! Colt, we're taking heavy fire. Where the hell are you?"

"I'm almost there, Duke."

"How soon is almost?"

"Almost . . . there!"

Duke heard the heavy thumping of rotorblades. He peeked over the berm.

A gray, bulbous H-19 Chickasaw helicopter rose above the trees. It dove on the enemy half-tracks. Two orange flashes lit up each side. .50 caliber rounds rained down on the PRF. Soldiers tumbled out of the half-tracks, some missing limbs or heads. A stream of fire gushed out a tube in the chopper's nose. Flames washed over the half-tracks. Several soldiers ran and twisted, their bodies ablaze. Sparks shot from the vehicles as ammunition cooked off.

Duke grinned. As infuriating as Colt Clay could sometimes be, he had to tip his hat to the man's mechanical genius. In 24 hours, he transformed that old helicopter into a fearsome gunship.

Colt put the Chickasaw down on the middle of the hill. Duke and the others hurried aboard. The helicopter lifted off and flew west, toward the Pacific and the waiting cargo ship captained by an old friend of Frank's.

Duke went over to the captives. "You three okay?"

They nodded, with Paul asking, "Who sent you here?"

"Your parents, and hers." Duke nodded to Cynthia. Paul's father owned a chain of grocery stores across the Eastern US, while Cynthia's father was a top executive for Mobil Oil. They footed the bill for this rescue operation when negotiations by the State Department proved futile. Ron, however, came from a working class family with not a lot of money. Still, it wasn't like Duke would just leave him in Guatemala. Unlike a lot of mercenaries he knew, he did operate by a code of honor. Part of that code was you didn't leave an innocent boy in the hands of Godless commie pukes.

Even if that boy looked more like a girl.

"Well, smile and give thanks to God. You're alive and your next stop is the good ol' US of A."

"What's so good about it?" Ron snapped.

Duke clenched a fist. He had to will himself not to belt this little punk across the chops.

"All you did back there was show what's wrong with America," said Cynthia. "We just go around the world murdering people because they're poor and they have dark skin."

Duke scowled. "In case you weren't aware of it, those poor, dark-skinned people were going to kill you."

"Only because you forced them into thinking violence is their only option," Paul shot back. "With all your wars and bullying and stealing from the poor to feed the military-industrial complex."

Max scrunched his face. "Is this cat for real?"

"You are wrong." Han raised a finger. "No one forced those men into their decision, and violence was not their only option. There were many paths all those men could have chosen. Some easy, some hard. They made the conscious decision to choose the easy path, to use violence and intimidation to achieve their ends."

Max pointed to Han. "Is _this_ cat for real?"

Anger lines dug deep into Duke's face. "You may not like us or what we do, but we did come over a thousand miles and risked our necks to save yours. You'd think you could swallow some of that pride and at least say, 'Thank you.'"

Paul barked out a laugh. "You want us to thank you for spreading more violence throughout the world? Screw you, old man."

Duke's eyes narrowed. He snatched a helmet hanging from the hull, put it on and activated the microphone.

"Colt."

"Yeah, Duke."

"Take us back."

"What?"

"What?" blurted Max.

"What?" blurted Paul.

"It seems our hippie friends would rather rot in a Guatemalan jungle than show an ounce of appreciation to the people who saved their worthless hides. So we're gonna take 'em back."

"Um, okay," replied Colt. "If you say so."

"I do say so."

The Chickasaw started to turn.

"Wait!" Paul screamed.

Duke leaned closer. "Got something to say?"

Paul's face tightened. He took a breath. "Thank you."

"See. That wasn't so tough." To Colt, he said, "Forget what I said. Continue on to the ship."

"You got it, Boss."

Duke turned to the three hippies and gave them a wry grin. "Who says kids these days don't have manners?"

**XXXXX**

_CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia, September 9th, 1971_

Merrick went through three cigarettes before he reached the end of the report. A hazy cloud of whitish smoke hung near the ceiling of his office as he closed the folder. The head of the CIA Special Operations Group, Unit 12 stretched out his tall, lean frame in his swivel chair and stared at the big block letters on the folder.

PROJECT ASCENSION.

DESIGNATION: ABOVE TOP SECRET

During Merrick's twenty-plus years with The Agency, he'd seen all sorts of top secret files, information that would blow the mind of the average person. But this? Part of him couldn't believe it was real. But it had to be. President Nixon had given the CIA the go-ahead on this operation. His exact words were, "Get this thing by any means necessary."

So Richard M. Helms, the Director of Central Intelligence himself, laid this file on Merrick's desk and ordered him to, "Get someone who can retrieve this."

Helms did give him some mission parameters. Whoever was assigned to this could not be an employee of the CIA. The chance for direct action was too great, and The Agency did not want to risk any blowback. They needed some outside operatives, men who, if captured, the United States Government could deny any association with them.

Merrick had a list of such people and groups in his rolodex. But he didn't need to go through it. He already had one group in mind.

He looked to the other file on his desk, the one the head of the Central America Desk brought to him an hour ago. It detailed the rescue of the three Americans held hostage by the People's Revolutionary Faction. All three were safely returned to their families. In the process, the rescue team killed the PRF's leader, Commander Estrada, and nearly half his guerilla force.

Half-a-dozen men had crippled one of the biggest communist rebel groups in Guatemala.

Merrick smiled. Major Duke Stryker and his Expendables would be perfect for this mission.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **_Here is some background on the actors portraying these characters._

_John Wayne – Starred in numerous westerns and WWII movies._

_Sean Connery – The original James Bond, 007._

_Clint Eastwood – Starred in several "Spaghetti Westerns" and "Dirty Harry."_

_Bruce Lee – Played Kato in "The Green Hornet." Appeared in several martial arts movies, including "Enter the Dragon."_

_Steve McQueen – Starred in such action movies as "The Magnificent Seven," "The Great Escape" and "Bullitt."_

_Richard Roundtree – Played the titular character in "Shaft."_

_Chuck Connors - Star of TV's "The Rifleman."_


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter features:**

**Diana Rigg as Maddy Farrell**

**Brigitte Bardot as Penelope**

* * *

_Santa Monica, California, September 10th, 1971_

Duke swung his Cadillac El Dorado into the alley, squinting against the morning sun that blazed through his windshield. He pushed down the sun visor and continued on until he reached a three-story brick building with faded brown paint. A weathered, wooden sign hung above the simple dark blue door. It read EXPENDABLES INC.

Not exactly the flashiest exterior for a business. Then again, it wasn't like Duke ran a business that could advertise its services in the Yellow Pages or on billboards. In this world, people hired you based on your reputation.

The Expendables had earned one hell of a reputation since Duke formed the group seven years ago. They'd worked for various western intelligence agencies, businessmen and Third World governments aligned with the US. Heck, he'd take on a contract for just about anyone.

Just about. There was no way in hell he'd work for any communists or any criminal organizations. That had probably cost the group untold millions, but at least he could sleep well at night knowing he did not compromise his principles.

Besides, they had made a potload of money over the years. More than enough for him to get a fancier car than this El Dorado or a big house instead of the apartment he lived in. But Duke didn't go much for sports cars, like that Aston-Martin Frank had. He also had no need for some gaudy bachelor pad like Max had. He just wanted a reliable car that got him from Point A to Point B and a comfortable place to live. What money he had leftover after meeting his living expenses usually went to his ex-wife, their two sons and their five grandchildren.

Duke gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to any of them. Hell, why would they want anything to do with him? If there had been an award handed out for the Absentee Husband/Father of the Year, he would have won it multiple times. His time with the OSS in World War II and the CIA after that was not conducive to having any sort of family life. He'd been halfway around the world for weeks or months at a time, while Pauline took Jim and Ralph to school or played catch with them or helped them with their homework.

Now the only way he could make up for all that missed time was with the occasional envelope full of cash.

_You're the one who chose this life. You just have to accept things the way they are._

Duke got out his car and went inside the old warehouse. While the outside looked dilapidated, the inside was a different story. Bright lights hung from the ceiling, illuminating a lobby with plush carpeting, comfortable chairs and sofas and a horseshoe-shaped reception desk. Beyond it were offices, conference rooms and file rooms. The second floor consisted of exercise rooms and living quarters for the Expendables and any guests. The third floor was filled with various supplies and weapons.

"Morning, Maddy," he greeted the slender woman with auburn hair and a clear complexion sitting behind the desk.

"Good morning, Duke," Maddy Farrell, the Expendables office manager, gave him her trademark alluring smile that never failed to send a stirring sensation through Duke.

Times like this he wished he was twenty or thirty years younger.

He glanced at one of the couches, where Max sat with a copy of the _LA Times _over his face.

"So what's his story?"

Maddy shrugged. "He's been like that since I got here. I didn't see any reason to wake him up."

Duke went over and slapped Max on the shoulder.

"Huh? What?" The former 82nd Airborne sergeant jerked away, the paper falling to his lap. He stared up at Duke in surprise and annoyance. "What the hell was that for, man?"

"Start of a new work day. Time to get your ass in gear."

Max yawned. "Yeah, right. Soon as I get a cup of coffee, or three."

"Trouble sleeping?" asked Maddy.

"You better believe it. Frank and his hot dish of the week kept me up all night. We really need to soundproof the living quarters."

"Or you could just sleep at your place," Duke told him.

Max frowned. "Can't. Turns out my pad's infested with termites. I had to bring in exterminators to fumigate the place. Won't be able to go back until tomorrow." Max picked up the paper, looked at it for a few seconds and shook his head in disgust. "Damn Dodgers."

Two sets of footsteps came down the stairs. One made a thumping sound, while the other was the clack of high heels.

Duke looked up. He about did a double take when he saw the woman. She had flowing blond hair, a round, sensual face, ample bosom and smooth, slender legs. The blue dress she wore looked like it had been painted on her.

Saying she was gorgeous wouldn't do her justice.

"Oh." She looked around the lobby, then smiled. "Good morning."

Max looked up from his paper. His jaw dropped. "Damn."

"Uuuuuh . . . morning, Ma'am," Duke finally managed to spit out. Oh what he wouldn't give to be young again.

"Morning, gentlemen. Maddy," said Frank, who walked behind the blond. "May I introduce you to Penelope."

Duke, Max and Maddy all said hello. Penelope responded with a hello of her own, and an incredible smile. She then turned to Frank. "Thank you for a wonderful evening, Frank."

"A wonderful evening that turned into a wonderful morning. Of course, any time with you is wonderful."

"Oh, Frank."

They kissed. A long kiss. A very, very long kiss.

"Damn slick limey." Max grunted and returned to his paper. Again he shook his head. "Man, I wish we still had Koufax and Drysdale."

Frank and Penelope broke the kiss before they collapsed from lack of oxygen. Penelope smiled, waved and went out the door.

"She's, uh, quite a girl," said Duke.

Frank nodded. "Yes, she was a rather enthusiastic one."

"Yeah, I heard how _enthused _both of you were," said Max. "All night long."

"Well, with a woman like that, the last thing that should be on any man's mind is sleep."

"Even if you keep everyone else around you up? At least when I'm with one of my many ladies, I know when to cut it off and get some Zs."

Frank appeared mildly stunned. "Come now, Max. You're a young, virile man. You should be able to make do without sleep from time to time."

"That's how I remain young and virile," replied Max. "I make sure to get plenty of rest."

Maddy huffed and shook her head.

"Got a problem, baby?" asked Max.

"Is it always necessary for men to brag about their sexual prowess?"

"In my case it ain't braggin'." Max flashed her a toothy grin. "Besides, shouldn't you be a little steamed with that chick Frank brought in? I mean, the two of you get it on sometimes."

Maddy slammed her palms on the desk. "Oh yes. It's perfectly all right for the man to jump in bed with a different woman every other night. But the woman can only commit herself to one man. In case you haven't seen a calendar lately, this is the Seventies. Women are broadening their sexual horizons. We're no longer confined by the patriarchal restraints that have been put on us since the beginning of time."

Max groaned. "If you're gonna start burnin' your bra, I'm outta here."

"I don't know." Frank gave Maddy a wry grin. "I'm not adverse to a woman going braless."

Maddy blushed.

The door opened. In walked a man with rugged features and brown hair and wearing a black leather jacket. He took a gulp of coffee from his steel thermos.

"Mornin' all," said Colt Clay. "What's happening?"

"You just missed Frank's newest one-night squeeze," Duke told him.

"I did?" Colt turned to Frank. "She good looking?"

"Exquisite."

"Playboy centerfold quality, my man," added Max.

"Aw, dammit." Colt took another gulp of coffee, then looked at Frank. "Does she have a sister?"

"Two, actually. Both married, however."

"Aw dammit."

The phone rang. Maddy picked it up. "Good morning. Expendables, Incorporated. How may I help you . . . Yes he is." She looked up. "Duke, it's for you."

He took the receiver from Maddy. "Duke Stryker."

"Duke. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

The gravely voice sent Duke's blood pressure up twenty points. He clutched the phone tight. "What do you want, Merrick?"

"Is that Merrick?" blurted Colt. "Ask him about Project Blue Book. Ask what he knows about UFOs."

"Will you shut up?" Duke snapped.

"Who me?" asked Merrick.

"No, not you. Not yet, any way."

A crest-fallen Colt turned away and headed for the stairs. "UFOs are real. The public has a right to know the truth."

Duke rolled his eyes. "Sorry about that. Now what do you want?"

"What do you think I want?" Merrick replied. "I have a job for you."

"Mm-hmm." Duke's natural suspicion ramped up several notches, as it always did dealing with the CIA man. "What kind of job?"

"One I can't discuss over the phone, of course. We need to meet in person. Say that ranchland I told you about once."

Duke knew what Merrick meant. Trippet Ranch, a forested area ten miles from downtown Santa Monica.

"You really want me to meet a snake like you in a deserted area where you can have a sharpshooter take me out and bury my body if I do something you don't like? Forget it. You wanna meet, we do it at that little place where I go to unwind."

"This isn't how it works, Duke, and you know it."

My place. Seven tonight. Be there. Good-bye."

Duke slammed down the receiver.

"What did the ever pleasant Mister Merrick want?" asked Frank.

"He's got a job for us."

"Doing what?"

"He wouldn't say."

"I thought you didn't trust that guy after he burned you during the Bay of Pigs," said Max. "Why would you take a job from him?"

"Because the CIA pays well. Because their jobs are usually in the best interest of the United States."

"So we're gonna take this gig?"

Duke stood silent for several seconds before answering. "We'll find out when we see him tonight."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **_Some background on the actresses featured in this chapter._

_Diana Rigg – Played Emma Peel in TV's "The Avengers" and Countess Teresa di Vicenzo in the James Bond film "On Her Majesty's Secret Service."_

_Brigitte Bardot – One of the best known sex symbols of the 1950s and 1960s. _


	3. Chapter 3

The Pit Stop was, in Duke's opinion, the seediest bar in the Santa Monica area. Located off Route 2, the exterior featured rotted wood, flickering neon beer signs and broken windows. The interior wasn't much better. The tables and chairs all looked ready to collapse, the place reeked of beer and cigarette smoke, specks of blood stained the torn felt on the pool tables and half the records in the battered jukebox skipped.

But Duke liked it. The beer was cold, no hippies would dare set foot in here, and brawls were the norm, not the exception.

"Duke." A bearded, burly man who looked like he could play offensive line for the Rams nodded to him when he entered.

"Earl," he said to the bouncer.

"Not gonna start any fights tonight, are ya?"

"I don't start fights, Earl. I just finish 'em."

Duke surveyed the bar. It was about a quarter full. Most people sat and quietly enjoyed their beers. Two others played pool.

He spotted Merrick, sitting where any spy worth his salt would sit. At a table against the back wall, so he could see everyone who entered the bar.

"Spread out," Duke told Frank, Will, Han, Colt and Max. "Stay sharp."

The other Expendables drifted apart, taking up position in different parts of the bar. Duke took the seat across from Merrick.

"Did you really have to bring the whole gang along?" The CIA man smirked.

"I like to be around people who I know will have my back."

Merrick chuckled. "Still sore over the whole Bay of Pigs thing, huh?"

Duke signaled the barkeep to bring over two beers. "I have every right to be sore. You left me behind when everything went to hell."

"We couldn't afford to have any CIA personnel found amongst the Cuban exiles."

"Which is why you ordered the men in my squad to kill me and bury my body?"

Merrick shrugged as the barkeep set down two bottles of Budweiser and retreated. "There was no way we could extract you at the time. It wasn't anything personal."

"It's my life. That makes it personal." Duke took a swig of his beer. From outside he heard the guttural sound of motorcycle engines. Lots of motorcycle engines.

"You made it back to the US eventually."

"No thanks to you."

"You must not be too pissed off at me since you're here." Merrick grinned and drank from his beer bottle.

"I can separate my personal feelings from business. What's the job?"

Merrick pulled out a copy of _Sports Illustrated _and handed it to Duke. "Turn to page twenty."

Before he could open it, a loud bang came from the door. In walked twenty men, most of them well over 200 pounds and bearded. They all wore leather jackets and replica German _Pickelhaube _helmets with a spike on top. Each helmet has a swastika emblazoned on it.

Duke groaned and turned to the appropriate page. A black and white photo had been wedged into the magazine. It showed a portly man with white hair standing on the patio of what looked like a mansion. A name was written in black marker in the top left corner. Dr. Armin Stumph.

"Nazi?" asked Duke.

Merrick nodded. "Got out of Germany shortly after the war."

"I thought the Israelis went after Nazi war criminals. What does the Agency want with him?"

"Hey!" one of the bikers, the biggest and hairiest of the bunch, shouted. His furious gaze was aimed at Han, who stood near the bar. "What are you doing in here, gook?"

"Looks like we're about to have trouble," Merrick said to Duke.

"Han and the others can handle it." He took another swig of beer. "So what's the story with this Doctor Stumph?"

"He was a scientist assigned to Project Ascension."

"Never heard of it."

"Hey, gook! I'm talkin' to you!" The biker leader stormed over to Han. The rest of his gang followed.

Han looked up at the leader, who had to have nine inches and 100 pounds over the ex-Hong Kong cop. "You appear to have a problem."

"Damn right I do. I asked what you're doing in my bar?"

"I am doing what most people do in such an establishment. I am relaxing and socializing."

The biker leader scowled. "I don't like gooks in my bar."

"Ah. You are the owner of this place. Then perhaps you should treat your customers with respect, otherwise you risk losing them, which in turn loses you revenue."

"What?" The leader's face scrunched in confusion. "No, I don't own this shithole."

"Then you cannot truthfully call this your bar," said Han.

That left the leader and the other bikers more confused.

"Hey, man!" another biker hollered. "I fought in 'Nam. I ain't goin' into no place where there's gooks. I took shrapnel in my leg cuz'a you slant-eyed sons'a bitches."

"Those were the Vietnamese who did that to you. I am Chinese."

"Yeah. Well I don't like chinks either."

"And look at this," said another biker, pointing to Max. "We got a spook here, too."

Max frowned and started over to the biker. "Why did you have to go and say that? Now I gotta kick your ass."

"You're the one who's gonna get his ass kicked, ni-"

Max laid out the biker with an upper cut.

"AAAAYAIIIII!" Han chopped the biker leader in the throat. The big man doubled over.

"WAAAAA!" Han did a hitch kick, striking the leader in the face. He toppled over.

Two more bikers went after Han. There were two screams, two lightning-fast punches, and two more guys on the floor.

Another biker grabbed a bar stool and raised it over his head. Frank gave him a judo chop to the shoulder. The biker staggered. Frank belted the guy in the chops. He crumpled to the floor. Frank caught the stool in mid-air and smashed it in another biker's face.

Other patrons joined in the fight. Fists flew. Feet flew. Chairs flew. Bottles flew.

Duke turned back to Merrick. "So what's Project Ascension?" He had to raise his voice to be heard over the ruckus.

"That information is highly classified. Suffice it to say, it's very important to US national security."

"Sure it is."

A biker threw a punch at Will Saxon. The sniper dodged left. The biker's hand smashed through the glass face of the jukebox. He wailed in pain and looked at his bloody fist.

Will grabbed the back of the biker's head and rammed it into the top of the jukebox. A forceful brass beat and booming voice filled the bar.

"_War! Good God, y'all. What is it good for? Absolutely nothing!"_

"Duke," said Merrick. "Do you think I'd come to you with a bullshit job?"

"Yes."

"Well, trust me, if you can. This is not bullshit. This country has to acquire Project Ascension before the Soviets."

"So what's so damn important about it?" Duke watched Max bodyslam a bar patron through a wooden table, shattering it.

"I told you. The exact nature of Project Ascension is highly classified."

"If that's how you want to play, then good-bye."

Duke started to rise.

"Wait." Merrick raised a hand, while Han grabbed a pool cue and snapped it in half. The improvised clubs flashed through the air, striking two bikers multiple times. Both men fell to the floor.

Duke sat back down as Merrick continued. "All I can tell you is that Project Ascension centers around a very advanced piece of technology. One that, if the Soviets get it first, will tip the balance of power in their favor."

"Is that true, or just the Agency being overly dramatic?"

"The President himself has made this a top priority. Is that good enough for you?"

"Maybe."

"Okay then. Does ten million dollars sound better to you?"

Duke stared at Merrick in contemplative silence. Ten million dollars was a hell of a lot more than the CIA usually offered them for a job. Maybe there was something to this Project Ascension if they were willing to throw that much money at them.

Colt's head smacked the table. One of the bikers was behind him, an arm wrapped around his throat.

"You need help?" asked Duke.

"No, I got it," Colt said in a raspy voice. He pulled at the biker's forearm. He couldn't budge it from his throat.

"Maybe I could use a little help."

Duke looked to Merrick. The two men grabbed their beer bottles and smashed them over the biker's head. He wobbled, then dropped to the floor.

Colt hacked and massaged his throat. "Thanks." He looked to Merrick. "I know you know the real story about UFOs. I want you to tell me -"

Another biker grabbed Colt and spun him around. Colt ducked a right hook and buried his fist into the other man's gut. The biker stumbled backwards. Colt tackled him to the floor.

"He's still on that UFO kick?" Merrick jerked his head to the former Marine pilot.

"Everyone needs a hobby," said Duke. "So I take it Doctor Stumph knows everything about Project Ascension?"

"That's what we're hoping. Our best guess is the project's base is located somewhere behind the Iron Curtain."

"Terrific."

"Doctor Stumph should be able to provide you with an exact location. Get it from him, go there and retrieve the project's contents."

"How can we retrieve it if we don't know what it is?" asked Duke.

"Trust me, you'll know it when you see it." Merrick lit up a cigarette.

"Where can we find Stumph?"

"Argentina. Pila, to be precise. The exact location is in the file I gave you."

"Security?"

"At least a dozen personal bodyguards, backed up by another dozen or so soldiers from the Argentine army."

"Nothing we can't handle," said Duke. "All right. We accept. Same deal as always. I want half in our Swiss bank account. As soon as it's in there, we'll be off to Argentina."

"I'll authorize the deposit as soon as I leave. It'll be in there first thing tomorrow morning."

"It better be."

Duke stood. So did Merrick, who said, "You're doing a great service for your country."

"We'll see." Duke turned. The bikers and the bar patrons were strewn about the floor. Some moaned, others were unconscious. Numerous chairs, tables and bottles lay scattered on the floor in pieces.

Only the Expendables remained standing.

"You guys have enough fun for one evening?"

Frank surveyed the carnage around him. "I believe so."

"Good, let's go."

Duke led his men to the door when the barkeep shouted, "Hey! Who's gonna pay for all this damage?"

Duke looked to Merrick. "He will."

The CIA man scowled as the Expendables left the Pit Stop.

"So do we have a job?" asked Will.

"Yeah. We're supposed to go after a Nazi scientist and see what he knows about Project Ascension."

Max scrunched his face in puzzlement. "What's Project Ascension?"

Duke turned to him. "Damned if I know."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	4. Chapter 4

_Over Argentina, September 12th, 1971_

Duke's eyes snapped open as the C-119 rocked left and right.

"What the hell's Colt doing up there?" grumbled Will as he rubbed his eyes. The other Expendables were also coming awake.

"I'll go check." Duke rose from the steel bench, grimacing from the aches that ran down his legs. Even when he was forty years younger, the benches on military transports were hell on his body. Now in his sixties . . .

_Why the hell am I still doing this?_

He, of course, knew the answer. Because he wasn't the type to just lounge on a beach all day drinking beer and getting fat. He needed to be doing something, something productive.

"Colt!" Duke barked as he entered the cockpit. "What the hell's goin' on?"

"I'm starting my descent into Junín. I figured I'd better wake you guys up."

Duke scowled at the pilot. "You couldn't just shout out, 'Hey. Wake up?'"

"This crate doesn't have an intercom, unlike the Seven-Oh-Seven I flew for Pan Am." Colt shook his head. "Damn, she was a beauty. And all I got was one flight on her."

Duke rolled his eyes. _Crap. Here it comes._

"It wasn't like anything I ever saw. A bright red disc doing maneuvers that no aircraft on this planet could do. It buzzed us for ten minutes, then it was gone, just like that." Colt snapped his fingers.

"It was a flight hazard." He looked at Duke. "I did what any pilot ought to do. I reported it. Then the damn suits at Pan Am told me to retract any mention of UFOs from my report. I told them that's what I saw, and I'm not retracting a damn thing. So they fired me and blackballed me from the industry. They're all in on it, you know. The White House, the CIA, the military, NASA, the airlines. They all know UFOs are real and they're covering it up."

"Uh-huh." Duke wasn't about to tell Colt he thought his theories were crazy. That would spark an hours-long debate on the existence of little green men and their flying saucers.

"Maybe that's what this Project Ascension is all about," Colt went on. "UFOs. I've read a lot of things that suggest the Nazis were building their own flying saucers during World War Two. That they're all hiding beneath Antarctica."

"Well here's hoping wherever Project Ascension is located, it's someplace warmer than Antarctica."

Duke left the cockpit before Colt rambled on about Nazis and Martians working together to take over the world.

_The guy may have a screw loose, but at least he's a good pilot._

Duke felt the twin-tailed C-119 flying lower and lower to the ground, until a thump reverberated through the aircraft. It taxied along the lone runway at Junín Airport.

As the C-119 started to slow, Duke returned to the cockpit and stared out the windows. He saw a terminal, a few hangars and dozen or so single and twin-prop planes parked on the tarmac. Junín was nowhere near the biggest airport in Argentina, which was exactly why Duke picked it. There wouldn't be as much security here as at the bigger airports in Buenos Aires, and what security was here could be easily managed.

After Colt stopped the plane and shut down the engines, he lowered the rear cargo ramp. The Expendables walked around the lorry tied down to the deck and proceeded outside.

Waiting for them at the bottom of the ramp was a potbellied, bearded customs official.

"Welcome to Argentina," the man, Parizzia according to his name badge, said in Spanish. "What is the purpose of your visit?"

"Location scouts," replied Duke. Having worked in Central and South America a lot during his CIA days, he spoke fluent Spanish. "For _Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom."_

"What is that?"

"It's a TV show about animals."

Parizzia nodded, then looked past Duke and the others into the C-119's cargo hold. "And do you have equipment in there?"

"Yes, we do. Very sensitive equipment." Duke said the last three words in a deliberate tone.

"I see. I will have to inspect this equipment myself, unless you sign these forms vouching that none of it will harm the government in any way." Parizzia handed Duke a clipboard and a pen.

"All we're going to do is conduct our business and leave. Nothing we do will negatively impact your country."

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Dr. Stumph did do some consulting with the Argentine Ministry of Defense. Kidnapping him might impact the country's military. Then again, this was South America. There had to be hundreds of other escaped Nazis running around the Ministry could hire as consultants.

Duke backed up a couple of steps until he stood between Frank and Will. He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a wad of hundreds and placed them between the sheets of paper on the clipboard. He then signed his name at the bottom of the first sheet and handed it back to Parizzia. The customs official flipped through the sheets, then smiled when he saw the money.

"Thank you. Enjoy your stay in Argentina, gentleman."

Parizzia headed back to the terminal with an extra bounce in his step at his newfound riches.

The Expendables drove the lorry into Junín, where they found a hotel in one of the less desirable parts of the city. They paid for the their rooms in cash, with Duke adding a couple hundred dollars extra for the hotel manager to look the other way at anything they did.

They ate dinner at a nearby restaurant that looked somewhat decent, then went back to the hotel to strip and clean their weapons. After that, Duke placed an international call.

"Expendables, Incorporated," Maddy answered. "How may I help you?"

"It's me. I'm just checking to see how your trip to the doctor's office went."

Duke had tasked Maddy with finding out anything she could about Dr. Stumph and Project Ascension. He had to be careful with what he said over an open line. Argentina was ruled by a military junta. Who knew if they were tapping the phones?

"The tests were all negative," replied Maddy.

Duke nodded. She hadn't found anything.

"But I need to go back tomorrow for another consultation. I might know more then."

"All right, I'll check back tomorrow," said Duke. "Good luck."

"Same to you."

**XXXXX**

The next morning, Duke and the other Expendables woke up at five-thirty. They loaded their gear, stopped at a small restaurant for breakfast, then drove the 370 miles to Pila. They pulled off on a jungle road and covered the lorry with branches and leaves.

"All right," Duke said to the men, who had gathered in a loose circle around him. "This is going to be pretty straight-forward. We get a lay of the land and see what sort of security Stumph has in and around his mansion. Then we plan the operation and make our move during the night. If all goes well, we neutralize the security, grab Stumph, fly him out of here and see what he knows about Project Ascension."

"_If_ all goes well," said Will. "Most times it doesn't go well."

"If that happens, we do what we always do. Improvise. Now let's move out."

They headed into the vegetation, with Colt asking, "Remember. When you're done asking Stumph about Project Ascension, I get to ask him about the Nazis' connection with UFOs. Unless Project Ascension and UFOs are one in the same."

"Man, shut up about your damn flying saucers," said Max, who then muttered, "Crazyass jarhead."

The Expendables moved through the jungle in groups of two, each group spread out fifty meters. Duke walked with Max behind him, scanning for any sentries or tripwires. He found none, and no one else reported any.

So far so good.

_I wonder how long that'll last._

They trekked a mile into the jungle without incident. Still another mile to go. Duke's eyes darted around. He expected Stumph's security forces to at least have some patrols out. Maybe they'd become complacent here in the middle of nowhere. Maybe they were just incompetent.

He took a couple of swigs from his canteen. Thankfully it wasn't sweltering hot like many of the jungles he'd been in. This part of Argentina this time of year barely got into the upper sixties.

Still, he wished the water in his canteen had stayed cold. Instead, it had become lukewarm. Couldn't anyone design a canteen that –

"Duke." Frank's voice crackled over the walkie-talkie.

"Yeah, Frank."

"I have something here you'll want to see."

"I'm on the way."

Duke and Max tramped through the jungle to Frank and Colt's position.

"So what is it?" asked Duke.

The tall Brit nodded to a streambed. "There."

Brow furrowed, Duke walked over to it. He was about 20 feet from the edge of the bank when he saw the first body. Then another, and another.

More than a dozen bodies had been thrown into the little stream. Some wore the dark green fatigues of the Argentine army. Others wore simple black coveralls, probably Stumph's personal bodyguards. All the bodies had two red holes in either their chests or foreheads.

"Double taps," said Frank, who now stood behind Duke. "This was a professional job."

Duke nodded, staring hard at the dead Argentines and Nazis. This could only mean one thing.

Someone else had beaten them to Dr. Stumph.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	5. Chapter 5

**This chapter features:**

**Curt Jurgens as Colonel Raimund von Geyer**

**Lee Van Cleef as Colonel Yevgeny Vinokur**

**Julie Newmar as Agent Galina Siminov**

**Klaus Kinski as Agent Hoffman**

* * *

Raimund von Geyer had to admit, he did feel for Doctor Stumph. The man was a Nazi. They had shared the same ideals. They had helped forge the greatest empire of the 20th Century. They should be working together.

Instead, the scientist was tied to a high-back leather chair in the middle of his spacious living room. Bruises covered his face. Blood trickled from his lips and nose.

_Spare yourself more pain and just talk._

Von Geyer wanted to ask that question. Unfortunately, he wasn't in charge of the interrogation.

That damn Russian swine Vinokur was.

The tall, lean KGB colonel with a narrow face, leathery skin and graying mustache walked around Stumph, hands behind his back. He stared at the beaten scientist, leering the whole while. The man always leered. Even a man like von Geyer found that leer unnerving.

"Why are you making me do this?" Vinokur asked in German. "We should be working together. You hate the West. My country hates the West. We share a common enemy. Yet you do not wish to share anything about Project Ascension, and force me to hurt you. A man as intelligent as you must see that defeating the United States and its capitalist allies is mutually beneficial."

Stumph grunted. "It is only beneficial to you. If I help you defeat the Americans, you will never let those like me rebuild the Reich. You will keep us under your heel, like you do East Germany." He glared at von Geyer through his blackened eyes. "Traitor. Lapdog. You're a disgrace to the Fatherland."

Von Geyer said nothing.

"The colonel here knows the value of working together to defeat a common enemy." Vinokur punched Stumph in the jaw. "You, Doctor, unfortunately, do not."

Stumph spat a wad of blood on the plush carpeting.

"You will tell us everything you know about Project Ascension sooner or later. Though the longer you remain stubborn, the more painful it will be for you."

"Go to hell. I will never betray the Reich. _Heil Hitler!"_

Vinokur chuckled. "You are aware that Hitler is dead and your Thousand Year Reich no longer exists."

Stumph gave the KGB colonel a defiant look. "So long as one of us remains, there will always be a Reich."

Vinokur sighed. "So be it. I tried to be reasonable. Now you have forced me to resort to more extreme measures. Oh Galina."

A slender woman in a black form-fitting outfit strutted into the living room. She was just under six foot with blazing red hair that came down to her shoulders and a round face that would have been more beautiful had it no been for that demonic smile.

The KGB guards and the members of von Geyer's Felix Dzerzhinsky Guards Regiment moved out of the way, more than a few looking nervous, as Galina stepped closer to Dr. Stumph.

"Galina, dear," said Vinokur. "We have a problem. Doctor Stumph here won't talk."

"He won't." Galina Siminov put her hands on her hips. "Good."

Her demonic smile grew wider.

Von Geyer swallowed as he looked at Stumph. He couldn't help but feel sympathy for the scientist.

**XXXXX**

Duke lay on his stomach, his binoculars poking out the foliage that concealed him. He counted fourteen men along the front of the two story, white marble mansion in the middle of the jungle. Some stood by the walls or on the large porch. Others walked up and down the circular driveway. They dressed like Argentine soldiers, even carried the standard issue FN-FAL rifle.

But Duke didn't believe for a second they were really Argentine soldiers. They looked sharper, more intense than your average grunt.

And if they were actual Argentine soldiers, why would they off their buddies, along with the personal guard of a man who'd been helping their government?

_A coup?_ That was not uncommon in this part of the world. But there had been nothing during their trip through Buenos Aires on the way here to give the hint of a military uprising.

Duke zoomed in, scanning the holster of a soldier on the porch.

_Well isn't this interesting._

The soldier carried a compact Makarov pistol with a silencer. The Argentines used Brownings, not Russian-made Makarovs, and no ordinary grunt would carry a pistol with a silencer.

Duke crawled back into the jungle, to the rally point behind a clump of trees. One by one, the other Expendables returned from their recon.

"I counted ten men to the rear of the mansion," Frank reported. "I noticed a couple of those chaps carrying silenced Makarovs. Definitely not standard issue in the Argentine army."

"Russians?" asked Will.

"That'd be my bet," said Duke. "What about the sides of the mansion?"

"Four men on the south side," said Max.

"I also counted four to the north side," Han told him.

Duke nodded. "The south side's closer to us. That's where we'll bust in."

"The moment we do that, all those other guards are gonna be all over us," Max pointed out.

"I know. That means we'll need a distraction." Duke eyes both Max and Colt as he said this.

**XXXXX**

Von Geyer had to concentrate to keep from wincing as Stumph let out an agonized scream. Galina had jammed a stiletto blade into the doctor's right index finger. She moved it up toward his cuticle, sometimes stopping to wiggle the blade.

The whole time she smiled. Sometimes she even giggled.

More blood spilled from Stumph. The man was already missing his right pinky and part of his right ear. Von Geyer was surprised Stumph had held out. He doubted it would be much longer before he started telling them everything about Project Ascension.

Another horrific shriek burst from Stumph's mouth. Von Geyer glanced over to the short man with pale skin standing next to him. He was actually smiling at the sight of Galina torturing the scientist. This didn't surprise him. Agent Hoffman was an assassin himself, only in the employ of East Germany's Stasi intelligence service instead of the KGB like Galina. Von Geyer had a difficult time deciding which one enjoyed their work more.

"Safe!" Stumph cried out. "It's in a safe! All the files on Project Ascension!"

"Ah, finally. Some cooperation." Vinokur walked over to the bloodied and bruised scientist. "And where is this safe?"

"Basement. It's in the basement. A fake cinderblock below a photo of myself and Albert Speer." Stumph referred to Nazi Germany's Minister of Armaments and War Production.

"What is the combination?" asked von Geyer, just to feel he was contributing something to the interrogation instead of standing around like a mute.

"Left twenty-three, right seven, left eighteen."

"Good. Good." Vinokur patted Stumph's shoulder, like a father proud of his child's accomplishment.

"Von Geyer. Go to the basement and open the safe."

Von Geyer tried to keep his face neutral. He despised taking orders from this Russian, from any Russian. Still, he nodded and said, "Yes, Colonel."

He waved for Hoffman and two FDGR soldiers to follow him. They crossed the foyer when his walkie talkie crackled.

"Falcon Two to Hammer."

Von Geyer pulled the walkie talkie from his belt. "This is Hammer. Go."

"There is a lorry approaching Oasis." Oasis was the codename for Stumph's mansion. "Two occupants."

"Let it proceed. We'll take them prisoner and see what they're up to."

"Understood, Hammer."

He turned to Hoffman and the two guards. "Go to the basement. I'm going to check on this lorry."

Hoffman nodded and led the two guards away.

Von Geyer headed to the front door. He opened it and stepped onto the porch. The sentries, a mix of Russian KGB and East German FDGR, clutched their rifles and stared down the driveway. A minute passed before the open bed lorry appeared and rolled to a stop. Much to his surprise, a stocky black man with a cigar popped up from behind the cab.

"Hey. Can any'a you tell me where the nearest McDonald's is?"

Von Geyer cranked an eyebrow. He looked to the Russians and East Germans around him. "Bring that man to me."

The guards advanced, weapons up.

"What the hell?" said the black man. "I asked nicely."

"Put your hands up," ordered one guard.

"All right. If that's the way you wanna play."

The black man brought up a .30 caliber machine gun. He belted out a war cry and opened fire. Blood exploded from the torsos and heads of six guards. The survivors dove to the ground. Another man threw open the lorry's door. He tossed two grenades. Seconds after they detonated, tortured cries pierced the air.

Von Geyer drew his Walther P38, the same pistol he'd carried since World War II. He fired three shots at the lorry.

The black man pointed his .30 caliber at him.

Von Geyer dove back inside the mansion. He just hit the floor when a barrage of large caliber rounds tore through the walls.

"What the hell's going on?" Vinokur crawled into the foyer, Makarov pistol in hand.

"What does it look like?" shouted von Geyer. "We're under attack!"

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	6. Chapter 6

Duke peered around a tree. Several guards dashed around the south side of the mansion, making their way to the front. Max's .30 cal continued its steady chatter. Every few seconds another grenade thrown by Colt exploded.

A full minute passed. No more guards ran toward the front. Only two men remained at their post on the south side, FN-FALs up, eyes sweeping the forest.

Duke turned to Frank. "Let's take 'em out."

"I'll take the chap on the left, you get the one on the right."

"Sounds good to me."

Duke broke cover and raised his Thompson. He fired two bursts. Frank's Sten Gun crackled a split-second later. Both guards crumpled to the ground.

"C'mon!" Duke hurried toward the mansion, followed by Frank and Han. Ten feet from the French-style window, Duke fired his Thompson. The glass exploded into hundreds of splinters.

Han ran past him like an Olympic sprinter. The former Hong Kong cop leapt through the shattered window. Duke reached it a few seconds later. He swept the butt of his Thompson along the window sill, clearing it of any jagged pieces of glass. He climbed inside and into a carpeted hallway, its walls adorned with photos of prominent Nazi leaders like Hermann Goering, Heinrich Himmler, and of course, Hitler himself.

Two guards rounded the corner. Their eyes widened when they saw Duke.

"WAAAAYIIII!" Han kicked the rifle out of the nearest guard's hands. He then backhanded the guard in the jaw. The man spun and fell to the floor. Han snatched the rifle out of the air and swung it. The metal butt cracked against the other guard's skull. He stumbled into the wall and slid to the floor.

"It appears you don't need my help." Frank looked at the unconscious guards before crawling through the window.

Gunfire echoed through the mansion. Duke crept along the wall, Frank and Han behind him. He looked around the corner.

Four men crouched near the open front door. Two fired rifles. The other two, one lean and tall, the other rotund, fired pistols. Bits of wood and plaster jumped off the door and walls as Max sprayed .30 caliber rounds at the bad guys. All four dropped to their stomachs, ducking the barrage.

Duke was about to wave Frank and Han forward when a door ten feet away flew open. Three men hurried out, one short and pale, the other two dressed like Argentine soldiers. One of the fake soldiers held up a manila folder stuffed with papers.

"We have it!" The man shouted in German as he ran toward the foyer. "We have it!"

"Get down, you fool!" ordered the rotund man, also speaking in German.

"Cover fire!" hollered the lean man, though he spoke in Russian.

Duke scowled. He knew the Ruskis had to be involved in this.

"Take it out the back!" the lean man told the "soldier" with the folder. "Get to the jeep and get to the airport."

The Germans and Russians laid down a steady stream of fire out the door. The "soldier" with the file ran past the grand staircase in the foyer and started to turn right.

Duke raised his Thompson and fired. All five rounds punched through the "soldier's" back. He pitched forward. A storm of papers flew out of the folder and floated to the ground. Another "soldier" turned around and raised his FN-FAL. A burst from Duke's Thompson stitched the man from his stomach to his chest.

The surviving Russians and Germans returned fire. Duke dove back around the corner. Bullets tore through the wall. Small chunks of plaster rained down on him.

"It seems you've aggravated them," said Frank.

"And right now they're aggravating me!" Duke shoved a fresh 30-round magazine into his Thompson. More bullets ripped into the wall above him. Flakes of plaster fell on his face. He brushed them off as Frank leaned around the corner and fired his Sten Gun.

Duke checked around the corner. Another fake soldier lay on the ground, likely shot by Frank. The last "soldier" trotted backwards, firing his FN-FAL, while the other three men ran into the living room. Duke glimpsed a portly man with white hair tied to a chair.

It was Dr. Armin Stumph.

Duke and Frank fired at the same time. Splotches of red appeared on the "soldier's" torso. He threw up his hands and dropped to the floor.

"C'mon!" Duke ran into the hallway, Frank and Han right behind him. He neared the foyer when a muscular man stepped into view in the living room.

An RPG-7 rested on his shoulder.

Duke glanced at the open bathroom door two feet away.

"In here!"

He hurried inside just as a sharp _crack_ came from the rocket launcher. Duke dove to the tiled floor. Frank hit the floor, too. Han landed on both of them as the rocket whooshed down the hallway. A horrific crash shook the bathroom walls.

Duke yanked the walkie talkie from his belt. "Will!"

"Yeah?" replied Will Saxon.

"There's a pinko with an RPG in the living room. Can you see him through the window?"

"Hang on . . . yeah, I see him."

"Well take him out before we all get turned into burnt toast!"

"Since you asked so nicely . . ."

Many long seconds passed. That pinko must have reloaded by now. Duke stared at the open doorway, tensing, waiting for another _crack_, then for the rocket to streak into the bathroom. When was that damn jarhead Saxon going to –

A muffled pop filtered out of the walkie talkie. Duke let out a relived breath.

_Crack!_

The explosion sent a tremor through the floor.

"Will, what the hell?" Duke shouted into the walkie talkie.

"Sorry. The guy must've hit the trigger right when his brains got aired out."

"Terrific." Duke crawled toward the doorway and peered outside. A small, smoldering crater had been carved out of the floor of the foyer. Flames snaked their way along the carpeting and ignited many of the papers from the folder.

Papers that likely had information about Project Ascension.

Duke ignored them. Whatever they wanted to know about the project they could get from Stumph.

He rushed out of the bathroom, followed by Frank and Han. Acrid smoke hung in the air. Duke clenched his teeth to keep from coughing. He ran into the living room. The RPG man lay on the floor, a red hole in his temple. Frank sent a stream of 9mm rounds into the adjacent dining room. The remaining commies dove for cover. Frank changed magazines and fired again.

At the far end of the living room, a gorgeous redheaded woman in a tight one-piece outfit looked at them. She had a hold of the chair Stumph was tied to, trying to drag it to the dining room.

"WAAAAAAA!" Han leapt across the room, left leg extended. He nailed the woman in the shoulder with a flying kick. She stumbled back.

The chair and Dr. Stumph fell to the floor.

Han threw a punch. The woman, to Duke's amazement, blocked it. She tried to punch Han. He ducked, then went for a side kick. The woman knocked his foot away and tried to kick Han. He sidestepped it.

Frank fired another burst from his Sten as Duke ran over to the fallen doctor. Blood covered the side of Stumph's head and his right hand. The commies definitely did a number on this guy. Duke might have felt sorry for him had he not been a Nazi.

He pulled out his knife and quickly cut through Stumph's bonds. Han and the woman continued to exchange punches and kicks. Frank kept firing at the dining area.

"Who . . . Who are you?" asked Stumph.

"The man who's gonna get your goosestepping ass out of here."

"American? _Nein. Nein!"_ Stumph tried to pull away from Duke.

He punched the Nazi in the face. Duke groaned as he lifted the semi-conscious Stumph to his feet. Damn, this guy was heavy.

_Times like this I wish I was thirty years younger._

Even then he'd probably have trouble lifting this fat Nazi scum.

Muscles straining, Duke made his way toward the foyer.

"Han, quit messing around with that girl!"

Duke brought up his Thompson and fired one-handed. The woman cart-wheeled behind a nearby cabinet.

"Time to go, Frank!"

Frank fired another burst into the dining area before heading to the foyer.

The woman leaned around the cabinet, holding up a knife. She threw it . . .

Just as Han pulled out a pair of nunchucks. He swung them in an arc. The knife clacked off them and bounced off the wall.

"Hoffman!" The fat German shouted from the dining area.

Frank started to turn around when a commie soldier pounded down the grand staircase. The Brit raised his Sten Gun and fired. The soldier flailed and tumbled down the steps.

Frank yanked out his empty magazine and reached for a fresh one.

Something moved from the dining area. Duke glimpsed the pale man. He leaned around the corner, silenced Makarov in hand. A muffled _punch_ burst from the pistol. The pale man quickly ducked out of view.

Something wet slapped Duke in the face. He grimaced, knowing immediately what it was.

Blood. Blood mixed with brains.

The blood and brains of Dr. Armin Stumph.

The dead scientist sagged to the floor. Duke let him go, his eyes on the gaping hole in the side of Stumph's head.

"Dammit." Whoever that pale-skinned commie was, the guy was one hell of a shot.

He'd also screwed up their mission.

"Let's go! Move!" He waved Frank and Han ahead of him before running for their door. Duke glanced at the floor. The flames had grown in the past couple of minutes. Many of the papers had transformed into blackened strips.

Many, but not all.

_No sense in leaving empty handed._

Duke bent down and scooped up a photograph and a piece of paper with its right corner burned off. He hustled out outside, wiped a sleeve across his blood-stained face, and pulled out his walkie talkie.

"Will, we're bugging out. Cover us until we're past the driveway."

"Gotcha."

Frank and Han were already climbing into the back of the lorry. Duke checked over his shoulder as he neared the vehicle.

Two commie soldiers ran out the front door.

A muffled _pop_ came from the forest. A red cloud exploded out the back of one soldier's head. The other threw himself on his stomach, trying to determine the direction of the shot.

Will shot the guy just below his left eye.

Duke got in the lorry's bed and rapped his hand on the cab's roof. "Get us out of here!"

Colt backed up, swung the lorry around and raced down the driveway. Parked along the side were three jeeps and three boxy unimogs.

"Take out those vehicles!" Duke ordered.

He, Frank, Han and Max blazed away. The flurry of bullets shattered windshields, punched through hoods and tore apart tires.

_Let's see those damn commies try to follow us now._

A figure in green fatigues with twigs and leaves tied to him emerged from the forest. Duke and Frank helped Will into the lorry. Colt stepped on the gas and continued down the dirt road.

"Where's the Kraut?" asked Will.

"Back at the mansion," answered Frank.

"What good's he gonna do us there?"

"He wouldn't do us any good if we had brought him along. Hard to remember things with your brains decorating the walls."

Will scowled. "Swell. So much for this job, and the rest of our money."

"Maybe not." Duke held up the paper and the photo. "I managed to grab these before we left."

"What are they?" asked Max.

Duke looked at the photo. It was black and white and showed a large group of men in _Wehrmacht _uniforms. He turned the photo over and noticed writing on the back.

"Hundred Twenty-Fifth _Ingenieurgesellschaft," _he read it aloud.

Max scrunched his face. "The Hundred Twenty-fifth what?"

"Hundred Twenty-Fifth Engineer Company." Duke looked over the paper. "This looks like a requisition form. They were requesting dynamite, drills, digging equipment, cement."

"Sounds like the stuff you need for a big construction project," said Max. "You think it might have something to do with Project Ascension?"

"Probably. Right now it's the only lead we've got."

"In that case," said Frank. "There's only one place that would have records for a _Wehrmacht_ engineering company from World War Two."

He looked around at the other Expendables. "Gentlemen, our next stop on this little adventure is West Germany."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **_Some background on the actors portraying the antagonists in this story:_

_Curt Jürgens (aka Colonel Raimund von Geyer) – played German U-boat captain in "The Enemy Below," General Blumentritt in "The Longest Day" and the main villain in the James Bond movie "The Spy Who Loved Me."_

_Lee van Cleef (aka Colonel Yevgeny Vinokur) – Played villains in Westerns like "High Noon," "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance" and "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly."_

_Julie Newmar (aka Galina Siminov) – Played Catwoman in the 1960s "Batman" TV series._

_Klaus Kinski (aka Hoffman) – Starred in "Doctor Zhivago" and spaghetti westerns like "For A Few More Dollars" and "The Great Silence."_


	7. Chapter 7

_Curacao International Airport, Netherlands Antillies, September 15th, 1971_

Duke stood at the payphone kiosk, looking out the terminal windows while waiting for the operator to connect him to the US. Rain pounded the runway and the planes parked around it.

So much for the beautiful Caribbean weather.

Then again, it wasn't like he or the other Expendables came to Curacao for a vacation. They just needed to get their C-119 refueled, get a few hours sack time and continue on to West Germany.

Duke heard a click from the earpiece, followed by Maddy Farrell's voice.

"Expendables, Incorporated. How may I help you?"

"It's Duke."

"Duke, thank goodness. Are you guys all right?"

"We're fine. Our doctor friend we were supposed to pick up, not so much."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Does that mean the job's over?"

"Not hardly. We've got another lead we're pursuing. Meanwhile, I wanted to see if you've dug up anything on our doctor friend."

"I have," Maddy told him. "It's not much, unfortunately."

"I'll take whatever you got."

Maddy ran down everything she had learned about the late Dr. Stumph through library records and some of the Expendables' ex-CIA and ex-MI6 contacts. She ended by saying, "I'll see if I can find out anything more about Stumph."

"Thanks, Maddy. You're the best."

"Keep that in mind next time I'm due for a raise. Good luck."

Duke hung up and walked to the far corner of the terminal, where the other Expendables sat. Frank was sketching on a notepad when he looked up. "Anything from Maddy?"

"She found out a few things about Doctor Stumph."

Colt sat up straighter, an anxious look on his face. "So do we know what Project Ascension is all about?"  
Duke shook his head. "No, but we know about some of the other things he was involved with."

He took a seat next to Frank and continued. "Turns out Stumph worked for Werner von Braun from 1942 to 1944."

"Werner von Braun?" said Max. "As in the Nazi rocket guy?"

"And the guy responsible for getting us to the Moon," Colt added.

"Yup." Duke nodded. "Stumph helped von Braun in the development of the V-2 rocket. He was later involved in the development of jet bombers for the _Luftwaffe."_

"I know the Krauts had a jet fighter in World War Two," Max stated. "I never heard of 'em having any jet bombers."

"They did," said Colt. "The Arado 234. But the Nazis only built a few of them, and too late in the war to make any difference. There was also the Horten 229 flying wing, but that never got out of the testing stage."

"You think that's what Project Ascension is all about?" asked Max. "Jet bombers?"

"The Soviets already have their own jet bombers, a lot bigger and more advanced than the Arado or the Horten. Why would they be so gung ho over German bombers from nearly thirty years ago?"

"Why indeed?" Duke stared at the floor, thinking of Merrick's words back at the Pit Stop.

"_Project Ascension centers around a very advanced piece of technology."_

Could it have something to do with jet bombers? If so, why would the US be so interested? Was there a better bomber around than the B-52?

Duke grunted and looked up. "We can sit around and dream up theories on this damn project all day, and it won't help us. The only way we're going to find out the real story is by tracking down the men from the Hundred Twenty-Fifth Engineer Company. Frank, how about it?"

Frank held up the sketch he had been drawing. "I'm doing this off of memory, which fortunately is very good. A necessity when working for MI6."

"Aren't you just Mister Super Spy?" Max gave him a wry grin.

"Thank you for the compliment, Max. Anyway, this is the Ministry of Defense War Records Facility in Bremen. I was there ten years ago for MI6 when we were investigating a former German colonel funneling arms to the IRA. The _Wehrmacht_ records from 1939 to 1945 are kept here." Frank pointed to the far end of the sketch. "Second floor, room Two-Five. Any records on the One Hundred Twenty-Fifth Engineer Company should be in there."

"How secure is the room?" asked Duke.

"Just a simple lock. A pinch of C4 will do the trick."

"What about security?"

"Handled by the _Bundeswehr." _Frank referred to the West German defense forces. "No more than a dozen soldiers, not the cream of the crop from what I recall. They were led by a lieutenant fresh out of officer school."

"That was ten years ago," noted Will. "What if it's changed?"

"That is possible, but I highly doubt it. We're talking about a facility that keeps pieces of paper. Lots of pieces of paper, at that. They're not going to have the same sort of security arrangement as an air base or naval base."

"Let's hope you're right," said Duke. "All right, we'll recon the place before we make our move. Remember, these are friendlies we're dealing with. Minimal force only. Knock 'em out or threaten 'em, then tie 'em up and stash 'em somewhere. Got it?"

The other Expendables nodded and said, "Yeah."

"Okay." Duke slapped his hands on his knees and turned to the window. "As soon as this rain lets up, we're off to West Germany."

**XXXXX**

_Bremen, Federal Republic of Germany (aka West Germany), September 17th, 1971_

Duke tried to ignore the chill air and the misty rain around him. He'd been in much worse conditions than this in his life. He peered over the lip of a ditch, scanning the War Records Facility with his binoculars. The place lay three hundred yards away, was surrounded by a chainlink fence with barbed wire on top and illuminated by several floodlights. A sentry walked the perimeter, looking bored. Another soldier sat in a guardshack by the gate, listening to a radio. The flat, grassy field between him and the facility concerned him. There was too much open space, too great a risk for detection. If the _Bundeswehr_ soldiers sounded the alarm, the whole mission would be a bust.

_We've cracked tougher nuts than this._

"Han." Duke jerked his head toward the facility. "Do your thing, and do it quietly."

"Such a request is unnecessary. In a situation such as this, stealth is the only course of action."

With that, Han slipped out of the ditch and crawled through the darkness.

Ten minutes later, Duke looked through his binoculars as the _Bundeswehr_ sentry trudged along the gate. Suddenly, a dark figure rose behind him like a specter. It reached out and tapped the sentry on the shoulder. He turned around.

Han kicked him in the face. The sentry dropped to the ground. Han stripped the man of his weapons and bound his wrists and ankles with rope. He then lowered himself to the ground and disappeared.

Five minutes later, Han reappeared by the guardshack. The soldier inside jumped off his stool and stepped outside.

Han laid him out with another kick to the face. After tying him up, Han melted back into the darkness.

"Let's go."

Duke and the other Expendables climbed out of the ditch and hurried across the field. No alarms sounded as they rendezvoused with Han.

Duke opened the front door with his boot. They encountered two more _Bundeswehr_ soldiers within seconds. The pair gawked at the Expendables' weapons, all pointed at them. They offered no resistance as they were disarmed and tied up. The remaining _Bundeswehr_ personnel were also subdued just as easily.

"Will, get up to the roof," ordered Duke. "You're our eyes. You see anyone coming, let us know."

"You got it." The ex-USMC sniper headed to the nearest stairwell.

Frank led them to Room 2-5 and pressed a thumb-sized piece of C4 against the lock. After moving back, he hit the detonator. Sparks flew off the lock, accompanied by a sharp _bang! _Frank waved away the wisps of smoke coming from the destroyed lock and pushed open the door.

The five Expendables entered the room, their flashlights sweeping over rows of file cabinets. Duke scanned one label after another on the face of the metal drawers. They contained files for infantry, artillery, panzer, signals and supply units. Nothing so far for –

"Got it," Colt called out. "These four filing cabinets have the records for _Wehrmacht_ engineering companies."

Duke took one of the cabinets, Colt the second and Frank the third. They held their flashlights in their teeth as they flipped through one file after another. Five minutes passed before Duke found a file labeled, _125TH INGENIEURGESELLSCHAFT._

"Jackpot." Duke pulled out the file, which held several pounds worth of paper and photographs. He walked over to a table in the center of the room and divvied up the contents between the five of them. They sat down and thumbed through the stacks.

"I've got the unit history here," said Frank. "The One Hundredth Twenty-Fifth Engineer Company was formed on Five May, 1942 in Weissenfels. Seems like their main task was the construction of new bases throughout occupied Europe."

"Any places in particular?" asked Duke.

Frank checked over the report. "Many places. Zeitz, Wroclaw, Liege, Tilburg. Infantry bases, panzer bases, airfields. Nothing that stands out."

Duke grunted. So far the 125th sounded like a run-of-the-mill engineering outfit. What the hell connected them to something as secret as Project Ascension?

"Aw, you gotta be shittin' me," grumbled Max.

"What is it?" Duke turned to him.

"I'm lookin' over these personnel files. I may not be able to read German, but I can read numbers. Looks like a lot of these cats bought the farm in 1945."

"I'm seeing the same thing in my stack," said Colt.

"As am I," added Han.

"And I believe I have the reason for that," said Frank. "According to this report, the 125th's base was attacked by a squadron of RAF Mosquito bombers on Twenty-Seven March, 1945. The company tried to escape, but the some of the Mosquitoes strafed their convoy."

"That jibes with some of the death dates I have," Max noted.

"Some, but not all." Han looked through his stack. "Other men died between mid-April and early May of 1945."

Duke turned his eyes to the darkened ceiling in thought. "That would put it around the time of the Allies final push to Berlin."

"And Berlin is apparently where many of them copped it," said Frank. "Seems after the Mosquito attack, the survivors of the One Hundred Twenty-Fifth Engineer Company were reassigned to the defense of Berlin."

"A bunch of construction workers in uniform versus battle-hardened American, British and Russian soldiers," said Colt. "Yeah, I can see how most of them wouldn't survive."

"Well some of them must have lived through that fight," stated Duke. "Keep looking."

**XXXXX**

Will Saxon had to concentrate to keep from shivering. He hated cold weather. It was one of the reasons he got the hell out of Colorado. What's worse, being outside for so long in the rain left his fatigues completely soaked. That made him even colder.

He tried to fight it off and do his job. Not that there was much to it. Outside of a few lights and a handful of cars, Bremen was dark and quiet. That suited him just fine. They could get whatever information they needed on those Nazi engineers and get the hell out of here. He hoped whatever Duke and the others turned up would ultimately lead them to this Project Ascension. That would mean one heck of a payout to him, which in turn meant more money for his mother. She was all he had now, outside of the Expendables. Will's father died when he was 12, and his sister . . .

He gritted his teeth, thinking about that phone call he got from his mother while he was at Boot Camp. Three men had dragged 16-year-old Silvia behind the Five and Dime store and beat and raped her. The police in Grand Junction did nothing. Silvia had obviously done something to entice those animals, they assumed.

A week later, he received another call from his mother. She had found Silvia in the bathtub, dead, her wrists slit.

He'd been enraged. He'd wanted to return to Grand Junction and do what the law wouldn't. Punish the vermin who made his sister take her own life.

Luckily his drill instructor, proving that he actually had a shred of a soul beneath his sadistic exterior, sat him down for a heart-to-heart.

"You go off half-cocked after the guys who did that to your sister, you're gonna fuck it up and wind up in jail," he had told Will. "You're in the Marine Corps. No one knows how to kill people better than us. And no one kills better than a Marine sniper. You're already the best shot in the platoon, Saxon. You become a full-fledged sniper, you can go back to Grand Junction one day, hunt down those pigs and put a bullet in their brains from a thousand yards out."

Will followed the DI's advice. He trained to be a sniper, perfecting his craft in Korea. Thirty-two confirmed kills he had, including a Chinese general. After the war, he returned to Grand Junction. As luck would have it, the three animals all went on a camping trip. Will easily tracked them through the woods. Three bullets, three dead bodies. He buried them in a single, large hole. To this day their bodies had not been found.

The deaths gave Will some satisfaction. Some, but not a lot. It wouldn't bring Silvia back. It also hadn't helped his mother. She never truly recovered, mentally, from Silvia's rape and suicide. All he could do now was make sure she had a nice house and lived in comfort.

That and keep killing the bad people of the world.

Bright lights caught his attention. He looked through his sniper scope. Two pairs of headlights appeared on a road a mile-and-a-half away. Will watched them as they made a left turn, coming down the road leading to the facility.

His senses heightened, Will tracked the vehicles as they neared the front gate. One was a jeep, the other a unimog. Both stopped a few feet away from the entrance. About twenty men jumped out of the unimog, all wearing olive-gray fatigues and carrying G3 rifles of the West German army.

Will got on his walkie talkie. "Duke. I hope you got what you need, because we have company."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	8. Chapter 8

Will stared through his sniper scope at the West German soldiers. One of them, a tall, lean man, approached the guard shack at the front gate and checked inside. Will expected the soldier to spin around and start yelling at the sight of the guard Han had left in there, bound and semi-conscious. Instead, the tall man kept staring into the shack.

Will furrowed his brow. _What the hell is he doing?_

The tall man reached for his waist. Surprise flashed through Will as he saw him draw a silenced pistol and aim it inside the guard shack. The weapon bucked twice.

"Swell," Will grunted, then grabbed his walkie talkie. "Duke. We've got a really big problem."

"What?"

"Those soldiers that just arrived, they're not _Bundeswehr. _One of them just offed the guy Han left in the guard shack."

"They're probably working with the commies we ran into in Argentina," said Duke. "Can you keep 'em busy for a few minutes?"

"No. But I can make 'em dead."

"That's fine by me."

Will shoved his walkie talkie back in his waistband and picked up his M-14. He looked through the sniper scope. The fake _Bundeswehr _soldiers stormed through the gate, running for the War Records Facility. Will searched out the tall man and found him in the middle of the group.

_So much for leading from the front._

Will drew a bead on him. His finger tightened around the trigger.

**XXXXX**

Duke flipped through the files, glancing only at the birth and death dates of the men from the 125th Engineer Company. So far he hadn't come across a single one still alive. Had they all perished in those final months of the war in Europe? It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility, given the desperate battles the Germans waged against the advancing Allies.

If that was the case, they'd be right back at square one trying to find the location for Project Ascension.

Duke scanned another file. The man died in April of 1945. The next file had a death date of May 1st, 1945, a day before the fall of Berlin.

"I found one!" announced Han. "Sergeant Henrik Koch. Born in 1923. Still alive."

Frank looked over his shoulder. "It says here his last known address is in Rostock. That's East Germany."

"Looks like your CIA pal was right," Colt said to Duke. "We are going behind the Iron Curtain."

"From what Will said, we won't be going anywhere if we don't leave now."

**XXXXX**

A split-second before Will fired, a soldier stepped in front of the tall man, clutching a receiver for a radio/telephone. The bullet went through his helmet. He jerked and fell onto the tall man. Both toppled to the ground.

"Shit," muttered Will.

The other soldiers gazed in shock at the two men on the ground. Will knew it would only be seconds before they recovered and responded to the threat. He moved the rifle to another soldier and fired. The 7.62mm slug blasted through the man's chest.

The others moved. Some ran for cover. Others had their rifles up, searching for their attacker.

Will dropped another soldier with a round through the neck.

He dropped below the parapet and crawled along it for ten feet. Will popped up, targeted another soldier and fired. The bullet struck him just under the left eye.

Will ducked before the soldier collapsed. Steady pops from G3 rifles erupted below him. Rounds snapped against the brick facade of the parapet.

Will crawled 20 feet to the left. He rose, aimed at a soldier looking out from behind a light pole and pulled the trigger. The soldier's helmet flew off. Blood and gray matter burst from his head.

More bullets struck the parapet and cracked over Will's head. He started crawling to his right.

That's when he heard the thumping sound from above. He looked up.

A helicopter approached the roof of the War Records Facility. Even in the dark, Will could identify it from its distinctive round body and blunt nose. It was a Huey. He knew many NATO countries, including West Germany, flew the utility helicopter.

Given the current situation, he doubted the Huey actually belong to the _Bundeswehr. _

A spotlight under the helicopter's nose snapped on. The intense circle of light swept over the roof, toward Will. He sprang to his feet and ran.

The light enveloped him.

Will looked over his shoulder. The Huey swung around, exposing its starboard side. A sleek MG3 machine gun poked out the open door. An orange strobe flickered from its barrel.

Will ran faster. Bullets cracked against the surface of the roof. The parapet was just a few feet away.

_This is not the smartest thing I've ever done._

The line of bullets drew closer. Will slung his M-14 over his shoulder and leapt over the parapet.

**XXXXX**

"Will!" Duke shouted into his walkie talkie. "Gimmie a position on those soldiers."

No response.

"Will. Will! Come in!"

Only static came from the walkie.

Duke clutched the device tighter. He tried to beat down his rising fear. Did the commies get Will?

He'd have to deal with that later. Right now his priority was to get everyone out of the facility.

The Expendables rushed down the stairs. No way would he lead them out the front door. The commies would definitely have it covered. They'd have to find another exit.

_Where there's a window, there's an exit._

Duke shoved open the door and emerged into the first floor corridor. He led the others toward the rear of the facility. Duke checked over his shoulder, doing a quick head count. He noticed Frank ripping up the file on Henrik Koch before shoving the pieces into his mouth. More of that intelligence service training. Destroy any files before the enemy could get their hands on them.

They reached the end of the corridor. Duke rammed the butt of his Thompson into the window, shattering it. He looked outside.

Three fake _Bundeswehr _soldiers stood twenty feet away.

"Down!"

The Expendables hit the floor. Bullets cracked overhead and punched into walls. Duke crawled across the floor, scanning the offices around him. He angled his body toward a door on the left.

A door down the hall banged opened. More than a dozen people streamed through and pounded their way. Duke tried to bring up his Thompson.

The fake _Bundeswehr_ soldiers raised their G3 rifles.

"Weapons down!" one yelled in English. "Weapons down!"

Duke turned to the other Expendables. Jaw tightened, he nodded.

They put down their weapons and slid them across the floor to the commies.

"Up! Hands on your head."

The five got to their feet and pressed their hands on top of their heads, fingers interlocked.

A tall, lean man strode up to them, a silenced Makarov in his hand. His gaze settled on Duke. A very unfriendly smile formed on his face.

"I thought I recognized you back at Doctor Stumph's mansion," said Colonel Yevgeny Vinokur of the KGB. "It is good to see you again, Major Stryker."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	9. Chapter 9

"Nice _Bundeswehr_ uniform." Duke glared at Colonel Vinokur. "You finally get smart and defect?"

Vinokur chuckled. "Sorry to disappoint you, but it was necessary to come here in disguise. The uniforms, along with the vehicles and helicopter, come courtesy of Colonel von Geyer here and his Stasi friends." He turned to a round man in his mid-fifties. "Our East German counterparts are good something."

Duke noticed von Geyer's face tighten, as though trying to hold back a torrent of rage. Contrary to popular belief, not all commies walked arm-in-arm in red brotherhood. Many Eastern Europeans had nothing but hatred toward their rulers in Moscow. After the failed revolutions in Hungary in 1956 and Czechoslovakia in 1968, they had very good reason to.

The walkie talkie on von Geyer's belt crackled. "Owl One to Hammer."

"This is Hammer."

"Heliborne troops are on the roof. The sniper has been eliminated."

Duke felt a stab of fear in his gut. He prayed Owl One was wrong about Will.

"Very well. Disperse through the facility. Find and secure any West German personnel."

"Oh, Colonel." Vinokur turned to him. "You seem to have forgotten your orders."

Von Geyer gave the KGB colonel a harsh gaze. He gripped the walkie talkie to the point his hand began to shake. With some hesitation, he pushed the button on the side of the device. "Correction. Your new orders are to find and . . . eliminate any West German personnel."

A pause. "_Jawohl, _Hammer."

"Good." Vinokur turned back to Duke. "Now that that bit of confusion is cleared up, we can return to our little reunion."

Max looked over at Duke. "You actually know this dipshit?"

"Yeah. I ran into him in Laos in 1959 during the North Vietnamese invasion. He put a bullet in my gut."

"After you put a bullet in my chest," said Vinokur. "I needed two months to recover."

"Really? I only needed one."

"And now here we are again after all these years, trying to track down the members of the _Wehrmacht's_ 125th Engineer Company."

"Who are they?" Duke asked in a flat tone.

Vinokur responded with an ominous chuckle. "Come now, Major Stryker. I saw you take some of the documents before you left Doctor Stumph's house. Did you think those were the only ones that survived the fire?"

Muffled rifle shots echoed through the building. Vinokur lifted his head, then tilted it to the right. "Hmm. It appears our Stasi friends have discovered some West German soldiers here."

Von Geyer shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He lowered his gaze to the floor.

"You didn't have to kill them, you son-of-a-bitch," snapped Colt.

Vinokur shrugged. "Perhaps, perhaps not." He leaned close to the Expendables and whispered, "But killing Germans never gets old."

The KGB colonel straightened up and spoke in a normal tone. "I assume by the fact you were trying to leave this facility, you either, A, found a member of the 125th Engineer Company still alive, B, you just wanted to run away from us, or C, both."

Vinokur placed his hands behind his back, a thoughtful look on his narrow face. "I choose C. Now, who is this person and where can we find him?"

Duke replied, "His name is Stick-It-Up-Your-Ass, and you can find him at One Twenty-Five Go To Hell Street."

Vinokur laughed. "Oh, Major Stryker. You know we will pry the information from your stubborn head." He looked at the other Expendables. "Or perhaps one of your friends is less stubborn than you, or less willing to put up with a considerable amount of pain."

He rested his chin between his thumb and index finger and surveyed the five mercenaries, as though trying to decide which dog to buy from a pet store. "Hmm, who should it be? Who should it be?"

"I know who it should be."

A slender woman with a large smile strutted up to the Expendables. Duke immediately recognized her. The redhead who fought Han in Argentina. She pointed a slender finger at Frank.

A half-smile formed on the Brit's face. "Well, this must be my lucky day. Or perhaps, it's your lucky day, my dear."

Max rolled his eyes. "Man, only you would try to pick up some psycho bitch with all these commies holding us at gunpoint."

The woman turned toward Max, still smiling . . .

And laid him out with a sidekick to the face.

Vinokur shook his head, pretending to look remorseful. "Ah, Major Stryker. You need to tell your pet Negro it is not wise to insult a woman like Galina."

Duke glared at the Russian, then turned to Max. He rolled on the ground, groaning.

"Damn, that hurt," he muttered.

"Frank Fisher," Galina about purred as she stared at him. "Former member of Great Britain's MI6, former member of the Special Boat Squadron, and a reputation for sweeping women off their feet." She leaned closer to Frank's face. "I'm afraid you'll find me immune to your legendary charms."

"I admit, I do enjoy a woman who plays hard to get. It makes the pursuit more enjoyable, and the outcome more rewarding."

Galina gave Frank a sweet grin. She then dug a fingernail into his cheek and dragged it down his face. Frank's jaw tensed as a trickle on blood dripped from his chin.

"That is only the beginning, Mister Fisher." Galina licked his cheek were she cut him.

"What's wrong, Vinokur?" asked Duke. "You don't have the stomach for torture any more?"

"Oh, I still have the stomach for it, but I must admit, Galina's methods are more creative than mine could ever be." He took a step toward Duke. "Now, either your friend, Mister Fisher, will be forced to tell us everything you have learned about the German engineers, or one of your other men will talk, in hopes of avoiding Galina's . . . pleasantries." Vinokur grinned.

"And then when we're done talking," said Duke, "we'll all come down with headaches, of the nine millimeter variety."

"I might be merciful and let you all live."

"That'll be the day."

Galina pulled a switchblade from her belt.

Von Geyer's walkie talkie crackled again. "Owl One to Hammer."

"This is Hammer."

"Sir, we have not been able to recover the body of the sniper."

"Then keep looking."

"You don't understand. The man actually jumped off the roof. Even if he had survived a three story fall, he would barely be able to crawl away. Another thing, one of our patrols on the top floor discovered a broken window."

Duke smiled. They still had a chance to get out of this.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	10. Chapter 10

Stasi agent Fritz Enke stood in front of the broken window. The wind blew cold air mixed with drizzle onto his fake _Bundeswehr _uniform. How had the sniper done it? How had he jumped off the roof and broken through the window? No one had seen him use a rope.

Somehow he had done it. Now Enke had to answer the big question.

Where the hell was he?

He turned to his partner, Lehmann. "He has to be hiding somewhere on this floor. Come."

The two agents headed to the nearest door. With Lehmann covering him, Enke stood against the wall and carefully turned the knob. He pushed it open, tensing, wondering if gunfire would erupt from inside.

All was quiet.

Enke and Lehmann checked inside. The room was dark. Enke felt along the wall for a light switch. When he found it, he flicked it on.

Rows of filing cabinets filled the room. In the middle of the floor lay two actual _Bundeswehr_ soldiers, bound and gagged.

Enke frowned. He'd rather not shoot fellow Germans, but orders were orders.

He brought up his G3 rifle. The soldiers stared back at him with wide, terrified eyes. They moaned desperately through their gags.

Enke fired two three-round bursts. The soldiers' heads split apart. Blood and brains cascaded over the floor.

The two agents moved on to the next door. They repeated the procedure. Lehmann covered Enke while he slowly opened the door.

Again, no one fired at them.

Enke felt along the inside wall for the light switch and found it. He flicked it up.

The room remained dark.

He looked to Lehmann and shouldered his G3. The other agent nodded and did the same. They pulled out their silenced Makarov pistols and flashlights and entered the room.

Enke's beam played over desks and chairs and cabinets. Could the sniper be hiding behind one of them?

He shined his light behind one desk, then another. No sign of the sniper. He checked behind a filing cabinet. Again, nothing. Enke moved on to another desk.

Something crackled under his boot.

He raised his foot and angled the flashlight down. The beam reflected off numerous shards of broken glass. Enke then pointed the flashlight up.

The light fixture above him had been shattered.

Dread slithered through him. It had to be the sniper. He'd knocked out the lights. A sense came over Enke that the hunter and just become the hunted.

"Lehmann. We need to -"

The rest of the words froze in his throat.

Lehmann lay sprawled on the floor, unmoving.

_How?_ He hadn't heard a thing.

Enke swung around, both flashlight and pistol raised.

The beam caught a large figure in front of him.

Enke managed a short gasp before a knife arced through the air and slit his throat.

**XXXXX**

Duke let out slow breaths as he watched Galina tie Frank's ankles, then run the rope around his neck.

"I should let you know," said Frank. "There are some lines I draw when it comes to this type of -"

Galina tightened the rope around his neck, making him hack.

"I don't think you will be making your little jokes for very long, Mister Fisher," Galina whispered in his ear. She then bit his neck like a damn vampire.

Frank bared his teeth. He emitted a couple of strangled coughs.

Galina stood straight and wiped the blood from her mouth.

Duke peered between the KGB and Stasi agents. There was no one else in the hallway beyond them.

Galina pressed a knee down on Frank's ankles and put a hand on his back. She pushed him forward. Frank's eyes and mouth widened. He gasped and gurgled, trying to draw in air. His face turned red.

The Russian woman eased off. Frank took a wheezing breath.

"The next time will be longer," stated Galina. "Or shorter. Or maybe I will not let up until you are dead. Remember, there are four more after you. What does it matter if you die before you talk?"

Duke glared at her. She may off Frank on her second try for all he knew.

He had to buy some time.

"Wait!"

Vinokur turned to him. "You have something to say, Major Stryker?"

"I can give you the name of the engineer we were going to see."

Vinokur spread his arms. "Then by all means, tell me."

"It's not that simple," said Duke. "If I tell you, you have to promise to let us leave here alive."

Vinokur chuckled. "Come now. You know better than to ask me something like that. Although, I will admit, your chances of survival go up if you give me this name."

Duke's shoulders sagged. "His name is Helmut Gruber. He lives in Postdam." He gave Vinokur the address.

The KGB colonel stared at him in silence. The seconds ticked off slowly. Vinokur snorted. "Do you think me a fool? Do you expect to believe that Major Duke Stryker, the rabid anti-communist, would so easily give up information? No, you are lying."

He turned to Galina. "I am afraid, Major, I must have the lovely Galina give you a demonstration on what happens when you lie. Or rather, she will give Mister Fisher a demonstration."

The redhead beamed and grabbed the rope tied to Frank's neck.

"Hammer!" a voice burst from von Geyer's walkie talkie. "Hammer, please respond!"

Von Geyer snatched the walkie from his belt. "What is it?"

"They're dead! They're dead!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Our heliborne troops. Someone -"

There was a muffled groan.

"Hello? Hello!" Concern spread over von Geyer's fleshy face. "Come in. Come in, dammit!"

There was no response.

The Russians and East Germans all froze. Vinokur stared at von Geyer, whose eyes shifted between the colonel and the walkie talkie.

Vinokur's head whipped to the two nearest soldiers. "Cover the stairwell."

They both nodded and weaved through the small crowd. Duke watched as they ran to the door leading to the stairs. His heart sped up. Hope began to rise.

The soldiers looked through the window embedded in the door.

Glass shattered. Both soldiers stumbled backwards and fell to the floor.

"What the hell?" Vinokur took a few steps toward the door, pistol up. Galina left Frank and strutted up to the colonel. The other commies started to follow.

The door flew open. Will Saxon appeared, a silenced Makarov in each hand. Dull pops spat from the barrels in rapid succession. Five commies jerked and crumpled to the floor.

Vinokur and Galina dove through an open office door. Von Geyer fired a couple of rounds from his Walther P38 and followed them, as did his pale-skinned buddy.

Many of the surviving soldiers dropped to a knee. The cracks from their G3s merged into a deafening roar.

Will jumped back into the stairwell. Bullets tore into the wall and door. Bits of plaster and wood jumped off them.

Han sprang to his feet.

"WAAAA-EEEEE!" He nailed a commie in the head with a spin kick. The man toppled over. Another kick sent a G3 spiraling out of a second commie's hands. Han laid him out with a third kick.

Duke snatched the rifle out of the air. Two commies turned around. He fired two bursts. A storm of red exploded out the back of their skulls.

Colt punched one of the commies, then threw him against the wall. He rammed his fist into the other man's gut twice. The commie slid down the wall as Colt grabbed his rifle.

Only two fake _Bundeswehr _soldiers left. They tried to run away. Duke and Colt gunned them down. Duke hurried to the office where Vinokur and the others had run into. He set the G3 to full automatic and unleashed a mini-barrage. He glimpsed von Geyer and Galina duck under a desk as rounds tore through walls, clocks and lamps, and shattered windows.

The G3 clicked empty.

"Duke!"

He turned just as Colt tossed him his trusty Thompson. Duke caught it and fired a burst at the cowering pinkos.

"Get going!" he shouted to the others.

"Don't forget about me, lads." Frank tried to struggle out of his ropes.

Han recovered one of his sais and severed Frank's bonds.

"Much appreciated, Han." The Brit nodded to him before reclaiming his Sten Gun.

Duke glanced over his shoulder. Frank, Han, Colt and Max all ran down the hallway. He fired one more burst before he took off after them. Will waited for them by the stairwell door, still clutching the Makarovs. Duke figured he'd gotten them from a couple of commies who wouldn't need them any more.

"Damn, man. We thought you were dead," said Max.

"I could've been. I jumped off the roof and managed to grab hold of the ledge, then kick in the window."

Max shook his head. "You are one crazy white dude."

"I'd rather be crazy than cut in two by a machine gun," said Will.

"Hammer to Wolf! Hammer to Wolf!" von Geyer shouted from inside the office. "Twilight. I repeat, Twilight."

"C'mon," said Duke. "I think our fat Kraut friend just called in reinforcements."

The Expendables dashed down the corridor.

Will looked over at Max, who sported a bloody, swollen lip. "What happened to you?"

"Um, I tripped."

Colt barked out a laugh. "Yeah. After that psycho Russian chick kicked you in the face."

Max glared at him as they ran. "Man, shut your mouth!"

The six reached the front door. Duke opened it a crack. He spotted two fake _Bundeswehr_ soldiers standing guard in the parking lot.

"Max. You still pissed off about Galina kicking your face in?"

"What the hell do you think?"

"You wanna take out that anger on a couple of miserable pinkos?"

Max grinned. "You bet your ass."

He clenched a cigar between his teeth and hefted his .30 caliber. Duke swung open the door.

"Hey, assholes!"

The two soldiers swung their heads toward him.

Max's .30 cal chattered. Red holes burst across the torsos of both soldiers. They crumpled to the ground.

Another soldier rounded the corner. Max swung around and blew him away. He then scanned from right to left.

"Looks like we're clear."

Duke led the others out the door.

A metallic tearing sound carried through the night air. Duke peered through the darkness. A bulky shape, like a large shoebox with tracks, rolled toward the War Records Facility. He quickly recognized it. An M-113 armored personnel carrier. A silhouette stood in the cupola, clutching a .50 caliber machine gun.

"Inside, now!"

Duke herded the other Expendables back through the front door.

A chugging sound erupted behind them.

"Down!"

All six men threw themselves to the floor. Large rounds cracked and snapped around them. Holes exploded in the wall and the door.

The firing suddenly stopped.

Duke looked over his shoulder. The shadowy figure in the cupola fiddled with another weapon, conical-shaped with four large fins.

A Cobra anti-tank missile.

"Move your asses!"

The Expendables scrambled to the feet. They sprinted for the stairwell door just as a sharp _whoosh _came from outside. Duke shoved it open with a shoulder and took the stairs two at a time. So did the others. They just reached the landing when the entire building shook. All six dropped to the floor as thunder rolled through the corridor below. The door flew open. Flames, smoke and debris shot through it.

"I assume going out the front is no longer an option," said Frank.

"Unless someone's packing a bazooka I don't know about," quipped Colt.

Max snapped his fingers. "Damn. I left mine at home."

"The commies probably still have that helicopter on the roof," Will told them.

Colt nodded. "If we got a helo, we've got a way out."

"Then let's go." Duke got to his feet.

They hustled up the stairs until they reached the entrance to the roof. Duke opened the door and poked his head halfway out. The helicopter was there, a Huey with West German markings.

A fake _Bundeswehr _soldier stood guard.

Duke shoved open the door and stepped outside. The soldier's eyes widened. A second later six .45 caliber slugs from Duke's Thompson ripped open his chest.

The Expendables rushed toward the Huey. The co-pilot's door opened. A man in a flightsuit leaned out, a Makarov pistol in his hand.

Will fired a quick double-tap with one of his Makarovs. Both rounds went through the co-pilot's right eye. He tumbled to the roof.

Duke reached the cockpit door first and shoved his Thompson inside.

"_Nein! Nein!" _The pilot raised his hands. Terror blazed across his face.

"Out!" Duke jerked his head.

Whether or not the pilot understood English, he got the message. He exited the helicopter and backed away, hands still up.

"Han. Send him to dreamland."

The ex-Hong Kong cop walked over to the pilot, who visibly trembled.

"WAA!" A fist flashed out. The pilot's head snapped back. He collapsed.

Duke stared at the pilot for a couple seconds to make sure he was still breathing. He then climbed into the co-pilot's seat, while Colt took the seat to his left. Once Frank, Will, Han and Max were all aboard, Colt started the engine. Two minutes later, the Huey lifted off and soared over the roof. They were over Bremen proper when Max appeared over Duke's shoulder.

"We're in luck. The commies put a couple of MG3 machine guns on this bird. If we run into any more trouble, we can cause a little trouble of our own."

"Good." Duke nodded, then turned to Colt. "How much fuel do we have?"

Colt looked over the console. "The tank's three-quarters full. We're in good shape."

Duke stared out the window. East Germany lay roughly 95 miles away. "You think you can get us over the border without the East Germans picking us up on radar?"

Colt snorted. "Please. I could get us into Moscow and hover over Leonid Brezhnev's office without the Russkies knowing it."

"Then turn this bucket of bolts toward the Iron Curtain and let's pay _Herr _Koch a visit."

"You got it."

Colt pointed the Huey's nose east. Max was about to head back to the troop compartment when he stopped. Duke noticed the ex-paratrooper's eyes were locked on the chopper's side mirror.

"Um, Duke?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember when I was talking about if we ran into trouble?"

"Yeah?"

Max pointed at the mirror. "We got trouble."

The silhouettes of two Hueys flew behind them. An orange flash erupted from the sides of one chopper. A volley of rockets streaked toward them.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_Leonid Brezhnev was the General Secretary of the Soviet Union 1964-1982._


	11. Chapter 11

"Hang on!"

Colt threw the Huey into a hard left bank. Duke clenched his teeth, the straps pinning him to his seat.

Several orange streaks flashed past the chopper's windows. Duke watched the rockets continue on, then drop toward the ground.

Colt slammed the cyclic stick right. Tracers streaked past the chopper, missing them by just a few feet.

The Huey's nose went up. Duke was pressed into his seat. The engines groaned as the chopper rose higher into the night sky.

Suddenly Colt leveled out and banked right. Another line of tracers shot overhead.

The city of Bremen vanished below them. Duke could make out the patchwork silhouettes of square-shaped pieces of land. Farmland.

_At least we're not endangering civilians._

But he and his men were still in danger.

Colt continued throwing the Huey into tight turns. The engine groaned like the stomach of a starving whale. More than once Duke wondered if it could take the strain. He wasn't the aviation expert Colt was, but he knew the Huey was never designed to maneuver like this. Still, Colt treated her like the F9F Panther and A-4 Skyhawk jet fighters he'd flown for the Marine Corps. Rockets and shells continued to miss the Huey.

Barely.

Duke wondered how long they could keep this up before their luck ran out.

Colt swung the chopper left. Two dull _thunks_ went through the fuselage.

"Dammit!" shouted Colt. "Everyone okay back there?"

"We're all still alive," Frank replied through the Huey's ICS – internal communications system. "Though I wouldn't want to bet on how much longer that'll remain the case."

Colt scanned the console. "All systems look good. It doesn't look like those rounds hit anything vital." He scowled. "Enough of this shit. Time to go on offense."

"You got a plan?" asked Duke.

"You bet your ass I do." Colt banked right. "Frank, you read me?"

"Loud and clear."

"An ex-Royal Navy man like you will love this. We're gonna give these commie bastards a broadside. When I turn, hit 'em with everything you've got."

"Roger."

Colt turned hard right. Tracers flew past their Huey. The ex-USMC pilot kept his eyes on the rearview mirror as he leveled out. Duke stared at him. Long seconds ticked by. What the hell was he waiting for? Flying straight like this only made them a good target.

"Now!"

The helicopter lurched, then hung in the air. Colt swung it to the left. It hovered in the path of the two enemy Hueys.

Gunfire roared from the troop compartment. Frank fired the door-mounted MG3. Max joined in with his .30 cal, while Will used his M-14 and Han his Uzi.

The barrage lasted just three seconds. The Huey then shot straight up. Duke peered out the cockpit windows. He caught a shadowy, oblong object spinning through the night. They had scored a hit on one of the enemy Hueys. It continued to corkscrew through the air until it slammed into the ground. A brilliant, orange fireball blossomed.

"One down, one to go," said Duke.

Colt didn't say a word. His head whipped in all directions, looking for the other enemy Huey.

"Anyone got a bead on the other chopper?" he spoke into his helmet radio.

Tracers zipped past them on the left.

"Nevermind."

Colt put the Huey into a dive. Duke felt his stomach shoot up into his throat. The snaking form of the Weser River grew in the windscreen.

"Colt?"

"Relax, Duke. I know what I'm doing."

He prayed the pilot was telling the truth.

At 150 feet from the deck, Colt pulled the nose up. He leveled out and made little banks to the left and right.

"Bandit's on my six." Colt checked his mirror. "Right where I want him."

"I thought an enemy aircraft on your tail was bad," said Duke.

Colt grinned at him.

Suddenly the Huey went straight up.

The enemy Huey roared underneath them.

Colt flew forward, keeping directly above the other chopper.

"Broadside, starboard side," he radioed the others in the back.

Colt tilted the Huey to the right. Twenty degrees. Forty degrees. Sixty degrees. Duke prayed everyone in back had their gunbelts securely fastened to the deck.

Machine gun and rifle fire chattered and crackled in the back. Tracers rained down on the enemy Huey. Orange flashes burst from the engine. A column of smoke streamed from the fuselage. The enemy Huey sputtered and heeled over. It hit the Weser nose first. A gusher of water went up around the chopper before it exploded in a ball of fire.

The tension unwound from Duke's body. He sagged in his seat, willing his heart to slow down.

"Well," said Colt. "Barring any more surprises, we should be hitting the border in about an hour."

Duke nodded.

"You know," Colt continued, "uniforms and weapons I can understand. But where the hell would the Russians or East Germans get hold of Hueys and M-113s?"

"They might have been captured by the North Vietnamese, then handed over to the Russians," answered Duke. "When I was in the CIA, we heard rumors that the Russians were collecting NATO vehicles and aircraft to use if they ever invade Europe."

"That'd sew a hell of a lot of confusion among our lines."

"It's what the SS did during the Battle of the Bulge. Put their troops in American uniforms, give them American equipment, and sic 'em on our boys. Now you have no idea if the guy wearing your uniform is a friend or the enemy." Duke paused. "If the commies are bringing out captured NATO helicopters and APCs, this Project Ascension must be something really big."

"Which means it looks like your buddy Merrick was right," said Colt.

"Yeah." Duke stared straight ahead. "This is about more than a job or money now. We need to find Project Ascension before Vinokur and his flunkies do, because if we don't, it could be very bad for the rest of the world."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	12. Chapter 12

**This chapter features:**

**Faye Dunaway as Herta**

* * *

The Expendables crossed the border into East Germany without incident. Colt kept the Huey at treetop to avoid being picked up by enemy radar. Given the lack of MiGs around them, the tactic appeared to work.

Twenty miles inside the so-called German Democratic Republic, a grim expression formed on Colt's face as he stared at the console.

"Bad news, everyone. We're not going to have enough fuel to make Rostock."

"Say what?" Max's blurted over the ICS. "These Hueys can fly over three hundred miles."

"Yeah, but our little dogfight burned up a lot of fuel. Plus I have no idea how far those Stasi guys flew this thing to get to Bremen."

"And we're gonna be in a bind when we do land," said Duke. "We have no East German IDs on us. Even if we lay our hands on a car, if we hit a checkpoint, we're toast."

"Not necessarily, chaps," said Frank.

"I take it you have something in mind?"

Instead of answering Duke directly, Frank said, "Colt, do we have enough fuel to get to Ludwigslust? It's southwest of Rostock."

Duke pulled out a map and shined a flashlight on it. It took a minute to find the little town. He showed it to Colt, who then looked to the fuel gauge.

"We should have enough . . . just barely."

"Excellent. I have an old friend there from my MI6 days who can provide us with what we need."

"Would this old friend happen to be female?" asked Duke.

"Of course."

Duke rolled his eyes. "Of course."

**XXXXX**

Frank Fisher stepped as carefully as he could along the damp forest ground. He doubted any East German troops or police were anywhere within earshot. But in all his years in Britain's Special Boat Squadron, and later MI6, he knew making assumptions could get one killed.

So he tried to squish as little as possible with each step. It meant slower going than normal, but better slow and cautious than quick and dead.

He walked the two-and-a-half kilometers from where Colt had landed the Huey to the small hunting cabin in the woods. Two kilometers beyond it lay the darkened forms of houses and apartments with sharp-angled roofs. The little town of Ludwigslust appeared sound asleep. Frank hoped it stayed that way until dawn.

He picked up his pace as he neared the front door. His heart beat faster. Heat grew throughout his body, especially around his waist. A crocked smile formed on his face as he recalled his last time at this cabin. It had been five years ago, one of his last missions with MI6. What a wonderful experience he'd had with the cabin's sole occupant.

_I hope she's still here. _He had a horrible vision of the door opening and a bald, middle-age man with a large belly standing before him. That would certainly put a damper on the whole night.

Frank knocked. Two quick raps, a two second pause, two quick raps, a four second pause, and another rap. Surely MI6 had changed the code since his last visit. Still, the occupant would have to answer the door, no doubt with a pistol behind her back.

A minute passed before the door opened. Frank's smile grew at the sight of the woman with shoulder-length blond hair, a round face and smooth, clear skin. She only wore a flannel bathrobe that showed of lovely, slender legs.

"Frank Fisher?" Her eyes bulged in surprise.

"Herta. Why so surprised? I did say I'd call on you again."

The surprised expression turned into a scolding look. It made her look even more alluring. "That was five years ago."

"Then I'm fashionably late."

Herta huffed and stood to the side. "Come in before someone sees you."

"Of course." Frank stepped through the threshold. "Don't want the neighbors speaking ill of you. After all, you have a reputation to consider. Though, I doubt you have many neighbors in these parts."

"You never know who might be watching you, even this far from town." Herta closed the door. Frank noticed she had an old Luger pistol in her right hand. Always careful, Herta was.

"And if neighbors speak ill of you," she continued, "You're likely to end up in a prison cell."

"Well, I certainly wouldn't want that for you." Frank smiled.

Herta looked like she tried to fight it, but still smiled back. "So what brings you back to East Germany?"

"Come now. You've been a contact long enough to know I can't tell you the exact details of my mission."

"Of course. MI6 is just like any other intelligence service. They need to protect their secrets."

"Yes, about that." Frank scratched the back of his neck. "I'm no longer in Her Majesty's employ."

Herta's face crinkled in suspicion. "Then who are you working for?"

"A private outfit. I must say, the pay is better than what I got from MI6."

"And that is where your loyalty lies now? Whoever gives you the most money?"

Frank gave her his most disarming smile. "I may not work for Britain any more, but I assure you, I would never take a job that would jeopardize her security."

Herta crossed her arms, her thin eyebrows knitted together as she studied him. "Would this job you're on jeopardize the security of the Soviets and their puppet rulers in this country?"

"Most definitely."

Herta let out a sigh. "I imagine you need the standard package? ID papers, currency, clothing."

"And transport."

"All this for an assignment MI6 isn't even aware of. Why exactly should I help you?"

"For old time's sake," replied Frank.

"All this work costs money. How are you going to pay me back?"

Frank sauntered over to Herta. "I'm sure we can negotiate some sort of appropriate compensation."

He slid his fingers into the tie of Herta's robe and undid the knot.

**XXXXX**

Duke leaned against a tree, trying to stay awake as he kept his eyes on the cabin. Damn, but it had been a long day, and it was turning into a long night. He tried to force thoughts of a soft, warm bed out of his head, along with clean, dry clothes, a corned beef sandwich and a beer. They still had plenty of work to do if they wanted to reach Henrik Koch, find Project Ascension and get out from behind the Iron Curtain alive.

A loud sound, somewhere between a gasp and a cry, came from inside the cabin. Duke stood up straighter as he heard another gasp/cry.

"Oh, Frank! Yes! Oh, yes!"

Colt snorted. "Unbelievable. We're in the middle of Indian Country, and Frank can still walk into a place and get laid in five minutes. What I wouldn't give for just an ounce of his luck."

Max turned to him. "You'd probably get lucky a lot more if you'd stop talking about UFOs with every chick you meet."

"I'm trying to expose them to the truth."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that while you're sleeping alone . . . and I'm not."

Han looked over at them. "If a woman is not willing to accept you for who you are, accept your beliefs, your strengths, your faults, then it was never meant to be, and it is best you go your separate ways."

"Or just lie to get her in the sack," said Max.

Ten minutes later, Frank exited the cabin and walked over to the thicket of trees where the Expendables hid.

"Herta's ready for you," he told them.

"Well she sure as hell was ready for you," said Duke. "I hope you didn't tire her out."

Frank grinned. "Just getting reacquainted."

"I'll bet." Duke waved the others forward.

When they entered the cabin and Duke laid eyes on Herta, he wished, once again, he was 30 years younger. The woman was an absolute knockout. Her beige sweater nicely hugged her slender frame, and the dark slacks covered what he imaged had to be a great set of gams.

_Frank, you lucky bastard._

Herta's gaze fell on Max and Han. Her face hardened. She shook her head. "No. There is no way I can produce fake documents for these two."

"What the hell's wrong with us?" asked Max.

"How about you're black."

"Why's that a problem? Black is beautiful, baby."

Han raised a finger. "I think what our host means is there is a distinct lack of blacks and Chinese in East Germany."

Max's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, I guess that would be a problem. So what are me and Han supposed to do? Walk around in white face?"

"In a way," answered Herta. She headed out of the living room and into the bathroom. When she returned, she held two large rolls of gauze. Herta threw them to Max and Han.

"What are we supposed to do with these?" Max looked at the gauze. "Wrap ourselves up like mummies?"

Herta grinned. "In a way."

**XXXXX**

After Herta took their photographs for their fake identity papers, Duke sent Colt and Will into Ludwigslust to find transportation. They returned with a bread delivery truck with a sloped hood. The vehicle had seen better days, but it would do.

They covered the Huey with branches and leaves as best they could. Duke knew it would only be a matter of time before the chopper was discovered. Thankfully, Ludwigslust only had a few thousand people and no major military bases nearby. He'd give it a day before someone found the Huey. Maybe two, if they were very lucky. By then, he and his men wouldn't be anywhere near this town.

They set out at first light, with Max and Han lying on blankets in the back. With their faces and hands heavily bandaged, they looked to all the world like severely wounded men.

Duke hoped their cover story, as well as the IDs Herta provided them, would get them past any checkpoints they might encounter.

They encountered one at a road juncture in Wismar.

"Looks like we'll see if we can BS our way through this," said Duke.

"Just leave it to me," replied Frank as he slowed the truck to a stop behind a squat, ugly car.

Up ahead, two green and white cars with lights and sirens sat on the road, forming a funnel with the space between their hoods. Four men in green-gray uniforms and carrying AK-47s looked over vehicles before waving them through. _Volkspolizei, _East Germany's national police force. Was this some kind of routine check or were they looking for someone or something in particular?

Duke fought to keep the tension off his face as Frank pulled the delivery truck forward. A short, unsmiling policeman marched up to the open window.

"Papers." He held out his hand.

Frank, now stone-faced, pulled out his papers. Instead of handing them to the policeman, he held them up to his face and said in Russian-accented German, "Major Anatoli Vasiliev, KGB."

The policeman's eyes widened. He took half-a-step back. "Um, um, Sir." He saluted. "I'm sorry, but I must ask, what is the purpose of your travel?"

"These men are injured." Frank jerked his head toward the back, where Max and Han lay. "We are taking them for treatment."

The policeman swallowed. "B-But why not use an ambulance?"

"That is classified, and not the concern of a lowly policeman."

"Forgive me, Sir. My orders are to check all vehicles going east in case -"

"The only orders I care about are the ones from my superiors in Moscow," Frank snapped. "Those orders, I assure you, supersede yours. Now, will you let me pass unmolested, or must I alert our embassy in East Berlin, who will in turn alert your superiors, about your insolent behavior?"

"N-No, Sir. That will not be necessary. You may pass." The policeman saluted with a shaky hand.

Frank glared at him and drove between the _Volkspolizei _cars.

"Looks like your girlfriend knew what she was doing making us KGB agents," said Duke.

"Nothing strikes fear in people behind the Iron Curtain than those three letters, whether you're Russian or not."

The Expendables made it to Rostock without incident. Duke and Frank stopped off at a bakery for food and drinks and took them back to the truck. All six men tore into their meals. None of them had eaten since last evening, and were famished.

Their bellies full, Frank drove to the street where Henrik Koch's apartment was located and parked in a nearby alley. There they waited until nightfall.

"You two watch the van," Duke told Max and Han.

"Not much else we can do, is there?" replied Max through his mummy-like mask of gauze. "Unless there are some kids you want us to scare."

Duke grinned and shut the door. He checked out the street. Finding it deserted, he led Frank, Will and Colt into the faded, red-brick apartment building.

The interior featured a faded linoleum floor and peeling brown paint on the wall. Typical bland, depressing communist aesthetics.

Duke wanted to shake his head, thinking about how many people in his own country thought how great communism was. If they only saw the drab surroundings and half-full store shelves here.

And of course, police checkpoints for no reason. And no free speech, no freedom of religion.

No freedom period.

Duke clenched his jaw. Would that be America's future if they didn't get to Project Ascension before Vinokur?

They reached the third floor and apartment number 311. Duke knocked.

A squat man with a round belly and a gray-brown beard answered the door. Suspicion glowed in his eyes.

"_Ja?"_ His voice was hesitant.

"Henrik Koch?" Duke asked in German.

"_Ja." _

Duke forced his way in, followed by the others. Koch backed up, the fear on his face evident.

"We need to talk."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **_Faye Dunaway is best known for her roles in "The Thomas Crown Affair," in which she played opposite Steve McQueen, and as Bonnie Parker in "Bonnie and Clyde," a role which earned her an Academy Award._


	13. Chapter 13

"Who are you?" demanded Koch.

"We're history buffs," Duke answered as Frank closed the door.

Koch's face crinkled in puzzlement. _"Was?"_ He then looked over his shoulder as Will and Colt stood behind him, arms folded, unsmiling.

Duke stepped closer to the former _Wehrmacht _sergeant. "We wanna know about the 125th Engineer Company. You were assigned to it during your Nazi days."

"_Ja_, I was, but I was not a Nazi. I never joined the party. I was just a soldier doing his duty."

"Sure you were."

"That is the truth."

"Well Nazi or not, we want you to fill us in on a project your company was involved with. Project Ascension."

Koch furrowed his brow. "I have never heard of such a project."

"Don't lie to me!" Duke advanced on Koch. He stood face-to-face with the ex-sergeant, who visibly swallowed. "We have proof the 125th was assigned to Project Ascension. Now what the hell was so important about it?"

"I don't know!" yelled Koch, his tone a combination of anger and fear. "I told you, I have never heard of this Project Ascension."

Koch swung his head left to right, taking in the Expendables. "Who are you people? You sound like an American." He switched to English when his gaze locked on Duke. "Are you CIA?"

Duke's mouth pressed into a tight line. He turned to Frank, who shrugged. "Maybe honesty is the best policy here."

Duke grunted. He looked back to Koch. "Let's just say we know some people in the US who are interested in Project Ascension."

"And if you find it, will that be bad for the Soviets?"

"Probably."

Koch stood straighter. "Then I will help you best I can."

"So much for standing shoulder-to-shoulder with your commie brothers," said Will.

"The communists." Koch spat on the floor. "Scum, all of them."

"Then you should have headed West when they divided Germany," said Colt.

"I would have, but my mother was very ill. I could not move her, and I ended up trapped here when the division between east and west took effect."

Duke actually felt a twinge of sympathy for Koch. He knew he sure as hell wouldn't have left his mother alone in her time of need, even if it meant being trapped in this totalitarian hell. He had to give Koch some points for that.

"As I said, I will help you," Koch repeated. "But on one condition."

"What's that?" asked Duke.

"Take me with you to the West."

Duke mulled it over for a few seconds. "Deal."

The two men shook on it.

"Now, Project Ascension."

"As I told you," Koch began. "I know nothing about it."

Duke felt his anger rise, then stomped it out with a dose of logic. If his CIA "buddy" Merrick hadn't bothered telling him what Project Ascension was about, would the Nazis let some run-of-the-mill sergeant in on it?

"Were there any projects you worked on where your superiors didn't tell you of their true purpose?" asked Frank.

Koch stared up at the ceiling in thought. "_Ja. _There was one place in the Ruhn Hills. My company was one of many assigned to hollow out some of the hills in 1944. My superiors never gave a reason. Though there were other engineers in my division I spoke with. They mentioned similar projects throughout the Reich. Large bunkers were built into hills and mountains without explanation. There were rumors, theories. Some said they were developing top secret weapons at those places, others said they were constructing underground cities where we would rebuild our forces and emerge one day to defeat our enemies."

"Did you believe any of those stories?" asked Duke.

Koch shrugged. "There were many rumors back then, everything from hidden armies to weapons that could destroy whole cities in a single stroke. Personally, I think some people believed them to avoid dealing with reality. And the reality was we were going to lose the war, which we did."

Duke said nothing, just digested the information. Could there be truth to those rumors? The underground cities sounded too far-fetched. Even if they were real, how would they benefit the Soviets? The ultimate weapon angle was more logical. He knew the Germans had their own A-bomb project in World War II, but never came close to actually building one. Even if they did, the Soviets already had tens of thousands of nuclear weapons. What would they need with a few A-bombs from thirty years ago?

"Can you take us to that place in the Ruhn Hills?" asked Duke.

"_Ja. _It is a few kilometers outside Putlitz, about eighty miles south of here."

"Well, you better grab a coat, because you're going on a little ride with us."

Koch nodded enthusiastically and hurried to his closet.

Duke watched the man, all the while wondering, what could the Nazis have built nearly thirty years ago that would be so important to the commies today?

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	14. Chapter 14

Before leaving, Duke went down to the apartment's basement and found a couple of old cans of white paint. The delivery truck had to have been reported stolen by now. They painted the truck's body as quickly as possible, then switched out the plates with ones from a car parked down the street.

"I hope everyone remembered to go to the bathroom," Max joked as Frank drove the van out of the alley.

Duke, sitting in the passenger seat, looked back at him. "If you didn't remember, you better tie a knot in it, 'cause we're not stoppin' until we reach Putlitz."

The drive south was uneventful, save for Koch's endless questions about living in the US or Britain.

"Do you all have your own cars . . . Do you have color TV . . . Can you really criticize your leaders without being punished?"

Part of Duke wished the guy would shut up. Another part sympathized with him. His years in the CIA had landed him in some very depressing locales, where people viewed things like indoor plumbling, refrigerators and washing machines as items only the very wealthy could afford.

And freedom to say whatever was on your mind, freedom to worship however you wanted, freedom to choose your own path in life. For some, those concepts were more fantasy than reality.

It made him appreciate the life he had in America. It also made him fight harder to prevent the commies from taking it all away from him and his fellow countrymen.

So he let Koch ramble, even answered some of his questions.

The last seven kilometers of their journey took place on a dirt road. The truck bucked and shook. Worst of all, it didn't have seatbelts. Duke gripped the dashboard to keep from being thrown out of his seat.

"Anyone want to place bets on how long before this piece of shit falls apart?" asked Colt.

"How about ten seconds from now?" The second after Max said that, the truck took a sharp bounce. He smacked his head against the side.

"Ow! Son-of-a-bitch! Forget ten seconds. How about five?"

"If that happens," Han spoke in a calm tone, "then we will simply walk to our destination."

"Uh-huh." Max rubbed the back of his head. "Then tell me this, smart guy. If we find whatever the hell this Project Ascension is, how are we supposed to take it without a truck to put it in?"

"Who is to say Project Ascension will even fit in this truck?"

"Unfortunately, Han, you have a point," said Duke.

A minute passed before Koch pointed out the window. "There!"

About half-a-klick away were a series of short, dark humps. The Ruhn Hills.

"Stop here," Duke told Frank.

The Brit stepped on the brakes and put the truck in park. He turned to the others in the back. "There you are, chaps. Made it here in one piece."

"More or less," grumbled Will.

The Expendables grabbed their weapons and gear and exited the van. They clicked on their flashlights and headed toward the hills. It took longer than Duke expected, mainly because of Koch. Half-a-kilometer meant nothing to the average soldier. But Koch's soldiering days were 25 years and forty pounds ago.

Eventually, they made it to the base of the nearest hill.

Duke shined his flashlight over it. The beam revealed nothing but grass and a few small trees.

"So how do we get in?"

"The main entrance was built into the side of the hill," said Koch. "But it is quite large, weighing many tons, and it can only be opened from the inside."

"Swell," muttered Will.

"Do not worry," Koch told him. "There are auxiliary entrances we can use. Please, give me a flashlight. I will take you to one."

Duke nodded for Han to hand Koch his flashlight.

"_Danke." _The German started up the hill, followed by the Expendables. The higher they went, the slower Koch walked. After a while, his breathing grew heavy. His walk turned into a plod.

Duke sighed to himself. _If he collapses, I ain't draggin' his fat ass up this hill._

Eventually, they made it to the top, without Koch collapsing. The German was definitely winded, but remained on his feet. He trudged along, shining his flashlight left and right. After about fifty yards, Koch, to Duke's amazement, picked up his pace.

"Here! Here is one." He shined his flashlight on a bush.

The others aimed their flashlights at it and jogged ahead. Han and Colt kept watch while Frank knelt down and clenched a handful of leaves and branches.

"It's artificial."

Frank felt around base of the bush, then looked up. "Metal."

He lifted the bush out of the ground and tossed it to the side. Beneath it was a metal hatch. His face strained as he tried to open it.

It wouldn't budge.

"It's probably rusted shut," said Koch.

Frank gave him a quick grin. "Not to worry. I have something that will knock the rust off."

He pulled out a handful of C4 and pressed it against the side of the hatch. He then shoved a blasting cap into it.

"Best if you all moved back."

They retreated about thirty feet from the hatch. Frank pulled out his detonator and flipped the switch. A sharp _bang_ went up from the hatch. Sparks flew from it.

The Expendables walked back to the hatch. Duke waved a hand in front of his face, trying to clear the smoke. He pointed his flashlight at the hatch, now a mangled piece of metal.

Duke used a booted foot to shove it open. He shined his light through the opening. There was a ladder at the front of the hatch. Past that, he saw nothing.

"I'll go first." Duke shoved his flashlight into his belt and climbed down. The others followed.

After twenty feet, Duke stopped and shined his light down. Nothing to see. He had no idea how far it was to the bottom. He descended another twenty feet and again checked below. Still nothing.

Duke went another twenty feet. Thirty. Sixty. He stopped and took out his flashlight, making sure to keep a firm grip on the rung with his other hand. If he fell, it may be for five feet or fifty. One landing might result in a twisted ankle, the other would result in months in traction, if he was lucky.

He pointed the beam down. The circle of light reflected off concrete twenty feet below.

"I found the bottom."

Duke climbed down the rest of the way. He waited at the bottom for the rest of the Expendables and Koch. They swept their flashlights in all directions, illuminating tiny portions of the pitch black cavern.

"Looks like all they're keeping down here is a lot of dark," quipped Max.

"There should be a switch for the generator nearby," Koch told them.

"Hopefully it still works," said Colt.

"It will work," Koch replied with a high degree of assurance.

"Typical German efficiency, _Ja_?" joked Colt.

"_Ja_." Koch answered in utter seriousness.

The seven walked along the side of the cavern for a hundred yards until their lights found a glass partitioned booth. Inside, old boxy equipment with levers, switches and dials had been attached to the rock wall.

Koch entered the booth and looked over the equipment. He flicked a couple of switches, then pulled down a lever.

A dull hum filtered through the cavern.

Bright light exploded around them.

Duke blinked and reached for his Thompson. Everything around him was an intense shade of white.

"Damn," Max whispered in awe.

"Look at the size of this place," said Colt.

Duke kept blinking until his vision returned to normal.

His eyes widened at the sight before him.

Banks of overhead lights illuminated an immense, man-made cavern. By his estimates, you could fit a dozen Rose Bowl-sized stadiums in here and still have plenty of space left over.

Unfortunately, all the space in here was empty.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	15. Chapter 15

"What the hell?" Duke grabbed Koch by the collar. He then drew his .45 semi-auto.

"Please! Please!" Koch held up his arms, pleading.

"There's nothing here. Nothing! Were you lying to us, you Nazi slime?"

"No, no. I did not lie. My company was here. We helped build this bunker. We left before they moved anything in here, if they ever did."

Duke seethed, baring his teeth as he stared at the wide-eyed, frightened Koch. Logic started to pierce his rage. If the Reich wanted to hide something top secret in this place, why would they tell a lowly engineering sergeant?

He released Koch and looked around at the other Expendables. "Search the place. Maybe we can turn up something." He didn't hold out much hope of that, but all his decades in the intelligence business wouldn't allow him to leave without making a thorough check.

It turned out the thorough check was a waste of time. They discovered many spaces designed for use as living quarters, offices, storage rooms, armories, latrines and a mess hall. They contained bunks, desks, toilets, sinks, stoves, tables and chairs, but nothing of any significance.

"I don't know what they wanted to put in here. Really I don't." Koch's voice quivered. Duke figured the fat German saw his ticket to the West and freedom vanishing before his eyes.

_Now we're back to square one. _Duke stared around the empty bunker, hands on his hips, trying to figure out their next move.

"Didn't you say the Nazis built other complexes like this throughout Germany?" Frank asked Koch.

"_Ja_, I did. That's what some of my friends told me."

Duke turned to Koch. "Did they also tell you were these bunkers are?"

The German's face scrunched in thought. Many seconds of silence passed before he answered. "One friend mentioned he worked on an underground shelter near Elsterwerda. He thought the Reich leadership might use it to keep them safe during all the air raids."

"Near Elsterwerda," said Colt. "Could you be a little more specific?"  
Koch shook his head. "_Nein. _Heinrich, my friend, just said it was near there."

"Near could be anywhere from five miles to thirty miles," Will pointed out.

Colt snorted. "Well, why should anything about this job be easy?"

"It is better than not having any clue as to this other bunker's location," said Han.

"Han's right," declared Duke. "Let's get back to the truck, head to Elsterwerda and beat the bushes until we find this damn bunker."

**XXXXX**

Elsterwerda lay over 150 miles to the southeast, not far from the border with Czechoslovakia. The drive there, unfortunately, was not uneventful. Twice the Expendables were stopped at checkpoints set up by the _Volkspolizei. _Both times, however, they got through thanks to their fake KGB credentials and the legendary KGB attitude of superiority.

When they reached the outskirts of Elsterwerda, Duke had Frank drive into the woods until they reached a hill a couple of hundred feet in height. The Expendables found no sign of an underground bunker, but Duke did scan the surrounding area from the top of the hill. He spotted five other hills in the distance that could house bunkers and marked them on a hand-made map.

"This sounds like a crap shoot to me," Max stated when Duke informed the group of his plan.

"It's not like we've got much choice. Just remember, if we find this Project Ascension, it's an extra five million for us."

"So what are we waiting for." Max hefted his .30 caliber and started back downhill to the van.

The first hill they investigated yielded nothing. The same with the second hill, and the third one.

The fourth one, however . . .

Crouched behind a tree, Duke peered through his binoculars. Two hundred yards away, a pair of men in stone gray uniforms and carrying AK-47s stood at the base of the hill. A rectangular, 8-wheeled BTR-60 was parked nearby. A black, red and gold pennant whipped from the armored personnel carrier's antennae, the image of a hammer and drawing compass encircled by gold leaves in the center.

The flag for the Stasi's Felix Dzerzhinsky Guards Regiment.

Duke moved his binoculars to what the East Germans guarded. An enormous tunnel burrowed into the hillside. He estimated the size of the entrance. A 727 airliner could easily fit through it, with room to spare.

"Looks like we found what we're looking for," said Will. "Too bad the commies beat us to it."

"We're not beat yet," said Duke. "Take out those two bozos when I tell you." He nodded to the guards.

"No problem. But what about the APC?"

"Leave that to me and Frank."

Duke and the former MI6 agent weaved their way through the trees, edging closer to the clearing, and the BTR-60. The sun was setting, but there was still enough light for the guards to spot them if they weren't careful. Luckily, the East Germans fell into the trap that most sentries do during long stretches of inactivity.

Boredom.

They chatted, they smoked cigarettes, they went to the BTR and got coffee. They did everything except their job, watch for threats.

Duke and Frank knelt behind a large tree, 40 yards from the BTR. He stared at the conical turret near the front of the vehicle, and the 14.5mm machine gun sticking out of it. Duke then gazed at the open ground between him and the BTR-60.

Forty yards never seemed so far.

With just a moment's hesitation, Duke lifted his radio to his mouth. "Will, take 'em out."

"Copy that."

A few seconds passed before a muffled _thump_ came from the woods. A shower of blood and brains burst from one guard's head. The second guard gaped, watching his buddy fall to the ground. He then dropped to a knee, AK-47 raised.

Duke heard another _thump._ A red cloud exploded from the guard's head.

"Go!" Duke was up and running, with Frank on his heels. They dashed toward the BTR-60. Duke kept his eyes on the turret, waiting for it to turn toward him, waiting for the big machine gun to rip his body in half.

The turret remained still. The crew inside must still be in shock over the sudden deaths of their comrades.

They reached the BTR-60. Frank scrambled onto the top of the vehicle just as its engine revved. He slammed a handful of C4 onto one of the roof hatches, shoved in a blasting cap, then slid off.

The BTR lurched forward. The machine gun swiveled to the left, away from Duke and Frank. They ran twenty feet before Frank pulled out the detonator. He flicked the switch.

A dull _crump_ and a flurry of sparks erupted from the roof of the BTR-60. It rolled to a stop.

Duke hurried back to the vehicle and climbed on top of it. He took a deep breath and held it as acrid smoke surrounded him, stinging his eyes and burning his nostrils. He did his best to ignore it and shoved his Thompson through the hole that used to be a hatch. The submachine gun barked. Duke held the trigger until the 30-round magazine ran dry.

He tried to wave away the smoke best he could, coughing a couple of times. He bent down and peered inside the armored personnel carrier, trying not to expose too much of his head. The driver and vehicle commander were slumped in their seats. The gunner lay motionless on the floor.

Duke got to a knee and stared down at Frank, who stood alongside the BTR-60. "I got 'em all."

"I would hope so, considering how many rounds you fired."

Duke grunted, then waved for the other Expendables. Will, Colt, Han and Max emerged from the woods and jogged over. Koch brought up the rear.

"Max, you stand guard," Duke ordered. "The rest of you, inside."

"Wow, we get to ride in style," joked Colt.

"Funny," said Duke. "Just for that, you can drive this rustbucket."

"Whoa, I fly planes. I don't drive pieces of crap with wheels."

"Then I suggest you learn in the next ten seconds." Duke slipped through the hole in the BTR's roof.

Colt sighed. "Fine."

He entered the vehicle, followed by the others. Duke dragged the two dead East Germans out of their seats, then sat in the commander's chair. Colt got behind the wheel, then looked at the blood spattered against the console.

"Jeez, did you have to make such a mess?" He tried to wipe away the blood with his sleeve.

"Will you quit complaining and drive?" said Duke.

Colt turned to him and bowed. "Your wish is my command."

He started the engine while Frank manned the 14.5mm machine gun. The BTR-60 rolled into the tunnel.

Duke stared out the vision slot. The tunnel was illuminated by numerous overhead lights, just like the one outside Putlitz.

He spotted several vehicles 300 yards away. More BTR-60s, along with 6-wheeled Ural-375 trucks.

Milling around the vehicles were 20 members of the FDGR. Several turned their way, just staring at the approaching BTR-60. He didn't detect any suspicion in their body language. Why should they be suspicious? As far as they knew, more of their commie buddies were in this APC.

_Joke's on you, assholes._

"Frank, you may fire when ready."

"Right then. Almost ready . . . almost ready . . . now I'm ready."

A deep chugging belched from the machine gun. Duke watched a line of yellow tracers tear into the FDGR soldiers. Gushers of blood shot out the East Germans. Some spun and fell. Others simply collapsed. Arms and heads vanished in explosions of red. A few survivors ran behind a Ural truck.

"That's not gonna save you, comrades." Colt grinned as the BTR-60 sped up.

Duke snapped his head toward him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Don't worry. It'll be fine. Fine for us, not so much for the commies."

Duke turned to the front. The Ural filled his vision. He braced himself.

A quake rocked the BTR-60. The crunch of metal on metal rang in the air. The Ural's cab caved in. The truck spun. Duke glimpsed two FDGR soldiers fall as they were struck by the truck. When he looked forward, a dozen more East Germans poured out of a side entrance.

"Frank! Commies to the right."

"I see them."

The machine gun fired again. Several East Germans fell in bloody heaps. A few tried running away. Frank cut them down. The survivors retreated back into the side entrance.

Colt swung BTR-60 through the opening. Duke saw four East Germans running down the wide corridor. The machine gun chugged. All four fell.

"Dismount," Duke ordered.

They exited through the roof and side hatches. Duke looked in all directions. He saw no sign of any more East Germans.

"Duke," Max's static-filled voice came over the walkie-talkie. "I heard gunfire. You guys okay?"

"We're fine. Certainly better than the East Germans. How're things on your end?"

"Nice and quiet. I'm hoping it'll stay that way."

"I hope so, too." Duke stuffed the walkie-talkie into his belt and turned around. "Han. Will. Head back to the tunnel. Make sure all the commies are dead."

The two men nodded and hurried off.

A minute passed. A minute-and-a-half. Duke heard a gunshot. Then another. A minute later Will and Han returned.

"I can report there are no longer any living communists in the tunnel," said Han.

"Good." He waved the Expendables forward.

"Anything look familiar to you?" Frank asked Koch.

"_Nein_. The layout is much different from the bunker my company built."

They went further down the corridor, ever alert for any more FDGR soldiers. None appeared. The men checked every chamber they came across. Like the bunker back in Putlitz, they found spaces for living quarters, bathrooms and storage.

_There has to be something here. _The Stasi had to be guarding this place for a reason.

The Expendables turned left into another corridor. They found a mess hall and a few offices long since abandoned. A right took them into yet another corridor. Duke slowed, peering ahead. There was an opening that appeared to lead into a large chamber. His heart pounded. Could this be it?

He continued on, resisting the urge to dash ahead. The East Germans might have some guards in there. Rushing in was a surefire way of getting killed.

Duke waved the Expendables to the sides of the corridor. He, Will and Han slid along the cave wall on the left, while Frank, Colt and Koch did the same on the opposite side. When they reached the opening, Duke and Frank peered through.

"I'll be damned," Duke muttered.

The chamber looked big enough to hold the Astrodome. Maybe two Astrodomes. Several horseshoe-shaped openings had been carved into the walls on either side. Tingles raced up and down Duke's body. This was it. He could feel it.

"C'mon." He led the men into the chamber. They all looked around. Frank's eyes went wide. Colt and Koch gaped. Will and Han, as usual, looked unfazed by everything.

Duke stared at the large steel door at the front of the chamber. It probably led to the tunnel.

_How thick is that thing? _Certainly thick enough to stop artillery shells, maybe even withstand 500-pound bombs.

Duke gazed at the ante-chambers around him. Whatever the Nazis put down here, they wanted it well protected.

They approached the first ante-chamber. Duke cocked his head when he saw the object inside.

"Holy shit," Colt stammered. "Is that a tank?"

Even Han's jaw dropped at the sight. "It is bigger than any tank I have ever seen. Much bigger."

Duke craned his neck, staring up at the massive vehicle. The thing had to be four stories in height. Its turret seemed better suited for a warship than a tank. The two guns had to be 15-inchers, the same caliber used by the infamous German battleship _Bismarck._

"Unbelievable," Koch whispered. "The _Ratte."_

"The what?" Colt gave him a baffled look.

"The _Landkreuzer _P One Thousand _Ratte_. Hitler's proposed supertank. We heard talk of such a weapon, but never thought they actually built it."

"This is Project Ascension?" Will stepped closer to the supertank. "This is what the Russians want?"

"I can't believe that," said Frank. "Something this massive would never survive on a modern battlefield. It can't be all that fast, it would be next to impossible to hide and a Phantom with a few bombs could blast it to scrap."

"Then it must be something else," declared Duke. "C'mon. Let's check out the other ante-chambers."

The next one contained small, stubby helicopter with an open cockpit and an MG 42 machine gun mounted on either side.

"Wow." Colt approached the little aircraft with a look of reverence. "The FI-282."

"From the tone of your voice, I take it this is something important," said Han.

"Important? Well, it is for aviation history. This was the very first mass produced military helicopter. The Germans used them mainly for artillery observation. They only built maybe a couple dozen. I didn't think there any more left."

"Well, as exciting a discovery as this is, I seriously doubt this is what the Russians are after," noted Frank.

The Expendables moved on to the next ante-chamber. Empty. The one after that had a launcher holding a dozen slender rockets. The next one had racks of automatic rifles similar to the AK-47, but sleeker.

"MP45s," said Duke. "The Germans built them just before the war ended."

The next two ante-chambers were empty. They crossed to the other side of the bunker. When Duke saw what lay in the ante-chamber, he slowed to a halt. So did the rest of the Expendables.

"_Mein Gott." _Koch stared at it with wide eyes.

Colt whistled and ran a hand slowly through his blond hair. "This is . . . this is amazing."

"This has got to be what the Russians are looking for," said Will.

Duke forced himself to take a step forward, then another. His eyes remained glued on the object.

The thing resembled a large missile with a sloping fuselage and cockpit windows above the pointy nose. It also had stubby, swept wings and a twin-tail.

"What sort of airplane is this?" asked Han.

"Not any airplane I've ever seen," answered Duke. "This looks like something out of an old _Flash Gordon _serial."

Colt snapped his fingers. "I knew it!"

Frank turned to him. "Knew what?"

"This proves it. The Nazis were working with aliens during World War Two."

Duke rolled his eyes. "Oh, for cryin' out loud, Colt."

"Well how else can you explain Hitler having his own personal rocketship?"

"Same way Hitler had jet fighters and ballistic missiles. Nazi ingenuity."

"We're gonna need some ingenuity of our own to get this thing out of here," Will pointed out.

"And we're gonna have to do it in a hurry before any more commies show up." Duke turned to Koch. "You're the engineer. Any ideas how to -"

"Shh!" Han brought a finger to his lips. "Listen."

Duke stood still, concentrating. He heard footsteps echoing through the chamber. Lots of footsteps. Like an entire company of soldiers approaching.

"We're about to have company." Duke stepped away from the rocketship. "Get ready."

He brought up his Thompson just as over a dozen FDGR soldiers poured into the chamber.

"Throw down your weapons or your friend dies!"

Duke recognized the voice. The fat Stasi colonel, von Geyer.

More soldiers entered the chamber. Two of them had Max by the arms. The ex-82nd Airborne sergeant had his arms bound behind his back. Patches of blood marred his face. The East Germans shoved him to his knees. One of them stuck the barrel of his AK-47 against Max's skull.

Duke scowled and turned to the others. "Put 'em down."

The Expendables dropped their weapons and kicked them away.

Nearly 40 FDGR soldiers and KGB agents advanced on them. At the forefront marched Colonel Vinokur, wearing his typical, evil leer.

"Ah, Major Stryker. I would wish you better luck next time, but for you and your band of misfits, there will be no next time."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	16. Chapter 16

"You okay, Max?" asked Duke.

"I've been better. Sorry I couldn't warn you. Bastards came outta nowhere. Still . . ." Max turned to Vinokur and managed a smile. "It took eight'a you suckers to take me down."

"But take you down we did." Vinokur jerked his head toward the Expendables. The soldiers holding Max shoved him forward. He fell to the floor near Han and Colt. They both helped him to his feet.

"So how did you find this place?" asked Duke.

Vinokur grinned. "Did you really think your Sergeant Koch was the sole survivor of his unit? After you escaped the records facility in Bremen, we went through the personnel records of the 125th Engineers Company and found another member who didn't perish during the final days of the war." He looked over his shoulder. "Oh _Herr _Glauber."

Two KGB agents stepped aside. A thin man with a narrow face and dark hair stepped forward.

"_Leutnant _Glauber," Koch spoke just above a whisper.

"Sergeant Koch." Glauber nodded to him. "A pleasant surprise. I had no idea you survived those final days in Berlin."

"I was not aware you survived, either. Yet here you are, helping the very people who enslaved half our country."

Glauber shrugged. "It's called adapting to your surroundings. The Nazis are no longer in charge of Germany. The Soviets are, this half of it, anyway. What good would it do to anger them, especially when they can reward me?"

"And you shall be rewarded for helping us find this bunker, _Herr_ Glauber."

"Simply an educated guess. Given all the underground hangars we carved out, this was the only bunker that could hold our prize."

Will turned to Koch. "So that asshole knows this bunker was here the whole time and you didn't?"

"_Leutnant _Glauber was transferred out of my company shortly after we completed the bunker near Putlitz. He must have been assigned here with his new unit."

"Carving out holes to hide your giant tanks and rocketships from the Allies, huh?" said Duke.

"Rocketship?" Von Geyer stepped forward. "What you call a rocketship, Major Stryker, represents the height of German technological achievement during the Second World War. This is Project Ascension. This is the _Silbervogel."_

"The what?" asked Han.

Von Geyer stood in front of the rocketship's hangar, hands behind his back, a look of pride on his face. "The Silver Bird. The world's first true spaceship, built over a decade before the Soviets and Americans began launching their rockets into space. The _Silbervogel _could take off like a normal plane, then achieve orbit around the Earth. From there it could strike anywhere on the planet. London, Washington, Los Angeles, and the Allies would have no defense against. Then it would land like a regular airplane, and unlike your disposable rockets, we could launch the _Silbervogel _into space again and again."

"Then why didn't you?"

"The _Silbervogel _was completed before the _Luftwaffe_ could properly train any pilots," von Geyer explained. "Experienced fliers were in short supply during the final days of the war. I can only assume _Der Fuhrer _hid the _Silbervogel _to keep it from falling into Allied hands. The records the Stasi recently uncovered about it were not the most detailed."

Duke glanced from von Geyer to the Nazi rocketship. He'd bet anything the CIA had a mole or two planted in Stasi who passed on the information. How else would Merrick have found out about this?

Von Geyer leaned back, his gaze fixed on the _Silbervogel_. "And now, after all these years, we have found it."

"And the Soviet people thank you for giving it to them in the spirit of international socialism," said Vinokur.

Von Geyer shot him an evil stare. If the KGB colonel noticed, he ignored it, and looked at Duke.

"Your country may have beat mine to the Moon, Major Stryker, but now the Soviet Union shall take the next great leap in space travel."

He turned back to the rocketship. "Imagine, an entire fleet of these _Silbervogels_, whose name we will, of course, change to something more Russian sounding."

Von Geyer's face turned a deep shade of red.

Vinokur went on. "An entire fleet of reusable spacecraft, with nuclear payloads, orbiting the Earth, beyond the range of any Western surface-to-air missile. Space is the future, my dear Major. The country that controls space, controls the world. That country shall be the USSR."

"At least I won't be around to see it," said Duke. "I assume we'll all be getting bullets to the back of the head soon."

Vinokur chuckled. "You think I want to kill you? Well, I do, but not now. Not for some time. No, you are much more useful to The Party as propaganda tools. Not only will the West be stunned when they see images of the _Silbervogel _on the runway at Sheremetyevo Airport in Moscow, but they will also see six members of America's CIA under arrest for attempting to steal it."

"We don't work for the CIA," Duke stated.

"And not all of us are American," added Frank.

Vinokur waved a hand and snorted. "As if the truth matters in these things."

Duke clenched his jaw. Mercenary or not, he still held on to some of the tenets drilled into him during his OSS and CIA days. One of them was never do anything to publicly embarrass the United States of America. If he wound up having his picture taken with Russian guards flanking him, and a smiling General Secretary Brezhnev looking on, he will have done exactly that.

_C'mon, Duke. You've been in worse spots than this. Think of something._

Every plan he came up with died when he saw the dozens of KGB agents and FDGR soldiers, and their AK-47s, surrounding him and the other Expendables.

So he stood there, watching as the commies examined the _Silbervogel _inside and out. An hour later, he and his team were moved away from the hangar as the rocketship's engines spooled up. Duke couldn't believe the thing still had fuel in it, and that it remained in good condition.

_More top-notch German engineering, I guess._

The _Silbervogel_ taxied out of the chamber and into the main cavern. Duke stared down the underground runway to the large opening leading outside. His anger rose, along with feelings of helplessness, and failure. As big an SOB as Merrick was, the CIA man had not been talking out his ass about Project Ascension shifting the balance of power in the world.

He couldn't allow Vinokur to fly off to Moscow with this thing. But right now, there wasn't much he could do about it.

"Von Geyer," Vinokur called to the Stasi colonel. "Call in the refueling truck. I want the _Silbervogel's_ tanks topped off with fresh fuel before we launch it."

Von Geyer glared at him. "_Jawohl." _He waved over his R/T operator, who handed him the receiver. He issued the order, then slammed the receiver back on the R/T unit.

While they waited, Vinokur's femme fatale sidekick, Galina Siminov, sauntered over to them. Try as he might, Duke couldn't take his eyes off the redhead's firm legs and luscious curves.

_Why does someone that beautiful have to be so evil?_

Galina stopped in front of Frank and flashed her sadistic smile. "You and me, me dear English gentleman, have unfinished business."

Frank grinned. "Oh, I can think of another sort of business we can engage in. Business of a more . . . _personal _nature."

Galina slapped Frank across the face and walked away, laughing the entire time.

"I don't think you're her type, man," said Max.

Frank stared after Galina, then gave a slight nod. "Perhaps you're right. Maybe you're more her type."

"Forget it. I dated a psycho chick once. No way in hell I'm doing that again."

"Your psycho chick was probably the poster girl for sanity compared to her." Will nodded toward Galina.

The rumble of engines drew Duke's attention to the entrance to the cavern. His brow furrowed when he saw not only a dull green fuel truck approaching, but several BTR-60s.

_Why the big escort for a refueling truck in the middle of nowhere?_

Vinokur also stared at the convoy as it drew nearer. He spun on his heel. "Colonel von Geyer!"

"Yes, Colonel Vinokur."

The KGB colonel pointed at the vehicles. "What is the meaning of this? I asked you to call in the refueling truck, not an entire motorized company."

"It is for security purposes," von Geyer explained.

"We have enough security here. Call them off."

"_Nein."_

Vinokur's eyes widened in shock. So did Duke's.

Vinokur's mouth hung open in silence. He stepped toward von Geyer. "What did you say?"

"My apologies. Perhaps I should have answered in you native tongue. _Nyet."_

Vinokur's head trembled in range. "You . . . you dare?"

Duke watched the two intelligence colonels, with more of his attention on the boiling Vinokur.

_Three . . . Two . . . One._

"You insolent piece of German shit! How dare you defy me? I'll see you put before a firing squad."

To Duke's amazement, von Geyer laughed. "Oh no, my dear 'Comrade.' I will not be the one getting shot today."

Von Geyer pulled out his Walther P38 and aimed it at Vinokur.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	17. Chapter 17

_Well this is an interesting development._

Despite his surprise, Duke managed to crack a smile as he saw the look of outrage on Vinokur's face. As von Geyer held the KGB agent at gunpoint, the FDGR soldiers trained their weapons on their Russian counterparts. They looked around in disbelief, but clenched their rifles tighter.

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" Vinokur demanded. "If you shoot me, there is no place on this planet where you can hide. The KGB will track you down, and you will suffer for days before they end your miserable life. Then they will do the same to every member of your family."

If von Geyer was intimidated by the threat, Duke didn't see it on his face. The Stasi colonel just kept smiling. "Now that _Das Reich_ has the _Silbervogel_, your threats mean nothing."

"There is no _Reich," _growled Vinokur.

"But there soon will be."

"Colonel!" shouted Galina.

Both Vinokur and von Geyer looked toward her.

The redhead launched a vicious back kick into the throat of an FDGR soldier. He crumpled to the floor as Galina whirled around and chopped another East German in the throat. His eyes bulged. He dropped his AK-47, stumbled back and collapsed.

Vinokur rushed von Geyer. The Russian grabbed the East German's wrist, pushing the Walther P38 away. Von Geyer tried to wrap his other hand around Vinokur's throat. The two spun around.

AK fire chattered through the tunnel. Both KGB agents and FDGR soldiers jerked and fell.

"Go! Go!" Duke hollered.

The Expendables ran back into the chamber. Duke glanced over his shoulder. Vinokur and von Geyer continued to wrestle. Galina came up behind one East German and snapped his neck. Von Geyer's personal assassin, Hoffman, plunged a knife between the shoulderblades of a KGB agent. He removed it and threw it into the throat of another Russian. Other KGB agents and FDGR soldiers fired at point blank range.

None of them paid any attention to Duke and his men.

He led them into the ante-chamber containing the MP45s. He took one of the automatic rifles and looked it over. It seemed in pretty good shape, despite being in this cave for over 25 years.

"Grab these and all the ammo you can."

The Expendables did just that, including Koch. Duke hoped the former _Wehrmacht _engineer remembered how to use a gun.

Once everyone was armed, Duke peered around the ante-chamber's entrance. Fighting still raged in the tunnel. The bodies of KGB agents and FDGR soldiers lay strewn about the floor. Duke noticed more dead Russians than East Germans. Vinokur and von Geyer rolled on the floor. Galina and Hoffman squared off, the East German blocking a bunch from the redhead before spinning to the side and launching a kick. Galina dodged it.

"So what now?" asked Will.

"We gotta secure that rocketship. It's not just about money any more. If the commies get their grubby hands on it, the ballgame's over for the West."

"That won't be easy. Whichever side's left standing, they're gonna come for us."

Duke nodded, then stared at his MP45. This thing wouldn't do shit against those Stasi BTR-60s. The commies could keep them pinned down until they took off in the _Silbervogel._

They needed an equalizer, and he knew where he could get one. A big one.

"Follow me."

He led the Expendables out of ante-chamber. The sound of AK fire diminished. Duke wondered which side had gained the upper hand.

Hoffman dodged two punches from Galina. He nailed her in the side with a kick. Galina stumbled back. Hoffman advanced. She punched him. His head snapped to the right. Galina followed up with another punch. Hoffman ducked and swept out his right leg. He hooked Galina's calves and yanked her off balance. She landed hard on her back. Hoffman leapt at her. Galina grabbed his wrists, put a knee in his gut and tossed him behind her. Hoffman rolled and sprang back to his feet. Galina also jumped to her feet.

Duke noticed movement to the right. Two FDGR soldiers started toward him. He brought up the MP45.

_Please fire._

The old rifle barked twice. Circles of blood exploded on the chests of both East Germans. They toppled over.

Another FDGR soldier ran past the grappling Vinokur and von Geyer. Frank dropped him with a short burst.

They dashed into the ante-chamber containing the _Ratte. _Everyone stared up at the enormous tank.

_More like battleship with treads, _thought Duke.

"You really want us to use this thing?" asked Max.

"You got a better way to take out all those pinkos?"

"I do." Colt hurried out of the ante-chamber.

"Colt!" Duke shouted. "Where the hell are you going?"

"Don't worry. I'll be back."

Colt ducked into the next ante-chamber.

Duke shook his head, hoping the ex-Marine pilot knew what he was doing.

He turned back to the other Expendables. "What the hell are you all standin' around for? Get your asses in this tank."

Han climbed the ladder first, followed Will, then Max. Koch and Frank went up next as Duke checked the tunnel. Von Geyer had rolled Vinokur on his back and punched him in the face once, twice. The Stasi colonel scrambled on all fours toward his fallen Walther. Vinokur got to his feet and bounded over to von Geyer. He kicked the East German in his sizeable gut. The East German rolled over. Vinokur bent down.

Von Geyer buried a fist into the Russian's groin. Vinokur howled and doubled over.

Von Geyer grabbed his pistol. Teeth bared in pain, Vinokur tried to reach for it.

Two pops came from the Walther. A shower of blood and brains flew out the back of Vinokur's head.

"Colonel!" Galina gaped as her commander fell over.

The reaction cost her. Hoffman jumped in front of her, grabbed her head and twisted. Duke heard a sickening _snap. _Galina crumpled to the floor.

Hoffman stared down at her, smiling. Slowly, he got down on his knees, bent over and gave the dead Galina a long kiss on her forehead. He then sniffed her hair.

Duke grimaced. Killing people was one thing, but this was just sick.

Von Geyer got to his feet, stared at the body of Colonel Vinokur, then shifted his gaze to a man on his knees, hands over his head.

"Glauber!" Von Geyer stalked over to him. "You wanted to serve the Russians, after everything they've done to our people?"

Glauber looked up, trembling, tears in his eyes. "P-Please, _Herr _von Geyer. I didn't . . . I had no choice. They . . . They . . ."

Von Geyer fired three shots into Glauber's head. He collapsed into a heap. A river of blood poured from his skull.

"_Herr Oberst_," one of the FDGR soldiers said to Colonel von Geyer. "The big American. He led his men in there." He pointed into the chamber.

"Aw, dammit." Duke leapt out into the open and sprayed the Stasi men. Four of them fell before the MP45's magazine ran dry. He ducked back inside the ante-chamber as AK-47 fire cracked through the air and ricocheted off the entryway.

Duke put a fresh magazine into his MP45 and scrambled up the ladder as fast as he could. Once again, he wished he had 30 less years on him, them he could move a hell of a lot faster.

The world slowed down. The top of the tank didn't seem to get any closer.

_Move, old man! Move!_

Suddenly the entry hatch just below the massive turret was about 15 feet away.

Bullets clattered off the hull next to him. Duke stopped and looked down. Von Geyer and a dozen FDGR soldiers stood at the base of the ladder.

Duke cursed himself for being too slow.

"Going somewhere, Major Stryker?" von Geyer asked, then chuckled.

"Yeah. I was gonna use this monstrosity to crush you and your Ratzi pals like grapes."

Von Geyer laughed louder. "Somehow I doubt that. I recruited two of the best pilots in our air force to fly the _Silbervogel. _They have studied every scrap of information available on it, and have researched everything having to do with space travel. By the time you figure out how to operate the _Ratte_, we will be in orbit."

"And then what?" Duke countered. "You gotta come down sometime. You think you can land in East Germany? The Russians have nearly two hundred-thousand troops in your country. If you land anywhere here, the Red Army'll be waiting for you."

"Major, very soon, there will be no more Red Army."

Duke furrowed his brow. "What, you got a magic wand to wish them all away?"

Von Geyer barked out a laugh. "Not magic, but science. You know during the war, Germany was working on an atomic bomb. Unfortunately, we were unable to manufacture one before the war ended."

"Thank God for that."

"While we never built an atomic bomb, our scientists did produce a fair amount of radioactive material. That material was inserted into a pair of canisters containing high explosives. Both canisters currently reside within the _Silbervogel. _A prize within a prize, wouldn't you say, Major?"

Duke swallowed. Forget bad to worse. This situation and gone from worse to a nightmare.

"The Russians will never let you keep your own nukes."

"The Russians." Von Geyer spat on the floor. "The Russians ravaged my country. They raped our women, murdered our children. They are no better than rabid animals. Now they keep my country divided, and lord over the eastern half. But with one act, I will avenge all Germans who suffered at the hands of those swine."

Duke's eyes widened. "You're not telling me you're gonna drop those bombs on Russia?"

"How astute of you, Major. I plan to release both bombs directly over Red Square. They will explode and release thousands of radioactive particles into the air. They will fall on people's skin, be inhaled into their lungs. The Soviet Union's leaders, and thousands of their subjects, will succumb to radiation poisoning in a matter of days."

"And what do you think will happen after that?" asked Duke. "The Russians'll blame the US for it. You're gonna start a nuclear war."

"Of course." Von Geyer smiled.

Duke glowered at the Stasi colonel. "You've lost your mind. You really want to rule a world of ashes?"

"A myth. The spineless preachers of peace in the West love to say the world will be destroyed in a nuclear war. But most, if not all, bombs and warheads will fall on Europe, North America and Asia. South America will be spared."

Duke's grip on the rung tightened when the realization hit him. "And that's where a lot of your Nazi buddies fled to after the war."

"Thousands of them," said von Geyer. "With both East and West in ruin, my brethren shall rise and give birth to a Fourth Reich, and this one will last a thousand years."

"Not if I have anything to say about it."

"There is nothing you can do about it, Major." Von Geyer holstered his Walther and snatched an AK-47 from the hands of a nearby FDGR soldier. "I will make certain of that."

The Stasi colonel raised his rifle at Duke.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	18. Chapter 18

A drubbing sound filled the ante-chamber. Von Geyer and many of the FDGR soldiers turned.

The little FI-282 helicopter hovered into view, no more than three feet off the ground. Colt sat in the open cockpit.

The MG 42 machine guns on either side opened up. Tracers slashed into the East Germans. Several spun and fell, torsos and heads covered in blood.

Von Geyer threw himself to the ground. He crawled on all fours, then picked himself up and hustled into the main tunnel.

Colt swung the helicopter left. He fired another burst from the machine guns. Von Geyer ducked out of sight as 7.92mm rounds ricocheted off the rock wall.

Two FDGR soldiers near the _Ratte_ got to their knees and aimed their AK-47s at the helicopter.

Duke fired his MP45 one-handed. The rounds struck close to the East Germans, but didn't hit them. Both men looked up at Duke and fired. He pressed himself against the ladder. Bullets pinged off the enormous tank's armor, some just a few feet from him.

Colt swung the helicopter around. Two machine gun bursts took out the East Germans.

Duke nodded to Colt, then slung the MP45 over his shoulder and climbed the rest of the way. He stared through an open hatch. Koch sat in the middle of the main compartment, several levers and pedals in front of him. That had to be the driver's seat.

"Can you get this thing moving?"

"_Ja_," replied Koch. "The fuel mix is still good, and there is much ammunition stored in here."

"Especially for these babies." Max patted the fire control for the main guns. "I'm gonna have me some fun with these mothers."

"Just don't hit the rocketship," Duke told him. "Remember, we need it in one piece."

"Don't sweat it, bossman. I'll be careful."

Duke was about to enter the compartment when he stared across the top of the tank. He saw two twin 20mm gun mounts positioned to the _Ratte's_ rear.

"So do you plan on joining us or not?" asked Frank.

"Not. The Krauts stuck some twenty mils on the back. I'm gonna use 'em."

Duke shut the hatch and sprinted along the top of the _Ratte_ as its engines rumbled to life. He jumped into the gun mount on the left side and checked it over. Crates of ammo rested beside the steel gun tub. He shoved the belts into the guns as the tank rolled forward. It cut to the right and entered the main tunnel. Several FDGR soldiers gaped at the armored beast. To his right, Duke saw the _Silbervogel. _Two cylindrical objects had been attached under its wings. They reminded him of JATO – Jet Assisted Takeoff – bottles. The air around the ship's main engine shimmered.

The _Silbervogel _was preparing to take off.

Deep chatters echoed through the tunnel. The 14.5mm machine guns on the BTR-60s spat tracers at the _Ratte_. Duke ducked as rounds cracked around him or pinged off the armor. An FDGR soldier hefted an RPG-7 on his shoulder and fired. The rocket-propelled grenade exploded against the side of the tank. All it did was burn off some paint.

Duke swung around the 20mm guns and depressed them. He thumbed the fire button. A deep pounding erupted from both barrels. Several East Germans were blasted into torn, bloody lumps.

The BTR-60s kept up their fire. The _Ratte_ turned toward them. Duke watched the big 15-inch guns drop toward the ground. He pressed his hands over his ears.

In the confined space of the tunnel, the report sounded like a hundred thunderclaps. A shudder went through the tank.

Five BTRs vanished in a massive fireball, along with many FDGR soldiers. Two other armored vehicles were thrown against the rock walls. Beyond the blast, several East Germans lay on the ground, some stunned, some dead.

The sputtering sound of an RPG caught Duke's attention. He turned just as the round streaked into the rear of the _Ratte_. Sparks and smoke leapt off the armor. Again, he couldn't spot any significant damage.

More FDGR soldiers took up position between the _Silbervogel _and the tank. A few had RPG-7s. One soldier fired at the _Ratte's_ left treads. A flash of orange and black erupted from the rubber.

Duke clenched his jaw. Those rockets may not be able to penetrate the tank's thick armor. But a few more hits on the treads and this monster wouldn't be moving anywhere.

He swung around the 20mm guns and opened fire. He blew out the chest of an FDGR soldier just as he fired his RPG-7. The rocket streaked toward the tank, missing the treads, and exploded against the wall.

Duke swept the guns left and right. More soldiers fell. Others . He picked off a few of them.

The _Silbervogel_ began to move.

Duke fought the temptation to fire. The thing had to be loaded with fuel. Merrick wanted it in one piece.

_But if they launch and drop those nukes, the whole world goes up in flames._

To hell with Merrick and to hell with the five million dollars. What would money matter in an atomic wasteland any way?

He aimed the guns at the _Silbervogel._

Rounds pummeled the armor around Duke. He ducked. Two rounds punched through the gun tub, missing him by inches. He peered over the steel lip.

A BTR-60 drove past the _Silbervogel_, blazing away with its 14.5mm machine gun. More big rounds clanged off the armor.

Duke glimpsed a sound-powered phone to his left. He snatched the receiver. "Hello, hello. Anyone, come in."

"That you, Duke?" asked Will.

"Who the hell do you think it is? The rocketship's about to take off and I'm pinned down by a BTR. Tell Koch to back this thing up."

A pause. "Back up?"

"Yes, dammit! Back up!"

"If you say so."

Another volley cracked and pinged around Duke. Gears grinded and the engine groaned. The _Ratte _rolled in reverse. Duke glanced over the lip of the gun tub.

"More to the left . . . more!"

The BTR-60's eight wheels locked up and screeched to a halt. It also started to back up.

"Gun it!" Duke hollered.

The _Ratte's _engines roared. The big tank shot backwards. The BTR-60 disappeared under the large treads. Duke felt a brief quake go through the tank.

The _Silbervogel _taxied further down the tunnel.

Duke spotted Colt and his FI-282. He slewed the helicopter to the left, triggering bursts from the machine guns. Bullets peppered a cluster of trucks, forcing the FDGR soldiers to keep their heads down.

Duke waved to get Colt's attention. The ex-Marine pilot didn't notice him. Duke grabbed the 20mm guns and fired. Tracers zipped twenty feet in front of the helicopter.

Now he had Colt's attention. He looked up at Duke, who waved for him to come over.

The FI-282 rose and headed for the _Ratte_. Duke trained the 20mm guns on the trucks and opened fire. The rounds shredded canvass, shattered windows and punched through cabs and tires. Fountains of blood shot up from a pair of East Germans.

Colt hovered next to the gun mount. The rotorwash bracketed Duke with hurricane-like winds. He grimaced as he slid out from behind the guns and jumped into the seat behind Colt.

"Get me to that rocketship!" Duke had to shout to be heard over the rotors.

"You got it."

Colt wheeled the helicopter around. He made a beeline toward the _Silbervogel. _A section of ground beyond the aircraft opened. A large rectangular object rose from the opening. Two engine nozzles were mounted to its rear.

"What the hell is that?" asked Duke.

"Some kind of rocket sled," replied Colt. "They must use it to help get that thing off the ground."

"Then we gotta get there before -"

Something hammered the back of the FI-282. Duke looked to the right. FDGR soldiers fired from behind the trucks. One of them had a RPK light machine gun. Tracers sliced through the air toward the helicopter. More bullets struck the stubby fuselage. Colt gripped the cyclic stick with both hands as the chopper shuddered.

Duke yanked the MP45 off his shoulder and fired it one-handed. He didn't think he hit any of the FDGR soldiers, but at least he made them duck.

The FI-282 swayed to the left. Smoke belched from the chopper's side. A sick groan came from the engine.

The _Silbervogel _was thirty yards away, drawing closer to the rocket sled.

Duke emptied his MP45. He yanked out the empty magazine and reached for a new one.

The FI-282 bucked. The rifle tumbled out of Duke's hands.

"Dammit!"

"C'mon, c'mon," Colt said through clenched teeth. He fought to keep the chopper in a straight line. That proved impossible. It swerved and dipped and heaved. The groaning of the engine grew louder. Tension gripped Duke's muscles. How much longer could this thing remain airborne?

The _Silbervogel _lay twenty yards away. Fifteen yards.

More rounds pummeled the fuselage. The nose dropped. Colt yanked back on the stick. The FI-282 rose ever so slowly.

"Better get ready to jump," Colt told him.

"Terrific."

The _Silbervogel _was just a few yards away. The FI-282 dropped to the left, diving away from the rocketship.

"No, no, no!" Colt shoved the stick hard right and worked the pedals. The FI-282 drifted over the _Silbervogel's_ stubby wings, then over the fuselage.

"Jump!"

Colt threw himself out of the pilot's seat. Duke followed a second later. He hit the fuselage hard. Pain shot through his body. He closed his eyes and grimaced.

_What I wouldn't give to be younger._

Then again, even if he was forty years younger, jumping from a moving helicopter onto a moving rocketship would probably still hurt like hell.

Something rumbled to his left. He looked behind him and saw the FI-282 lying on the ground, consumed by flames.

"Duke! Here!"

He turned to find Colt opening a rear hatch. The ex-Marine dropped inside the _Silbervogel. _Gritting his teeth against the pain that still wracked his body, Duke also slid through the hatch, then closed and secured it. He swung around to find Colt holding a silver, aluminum-looking suit.

"Here, put this on, just in case we can't stop 'em from launching."

Duke took the spacesuit, which resembled the ones worn by Alan Shepard, John Glenn and the other Mercury astronauts. He quickly put it on. Colt took another spacesuit from a nearby storage locker and got into it.

Duke looked down the length of the rocketship. At the other end was a ladder he assumed led to the cockpit. He started toward it when the _Silbervogel_ stopped. A dull _thunk_ sounded through the craft.

"What was that?"

Colt's eyes widened. "I think they're about to -"

A monstrous roar engulfed Duke's ears. He was thrown to the deck.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	19. Chapter 19

Duke was pinned to the deck as the _Silbervogel _shot forward. The roar reached the point where his ears throbbed in pain. He managed to glance over at Colt. He had his back pressed against the corner of the storage locker, his face straining.

He felt the rocketship rise. Duke slid across the deck. He pushed himself to a sitting position, his back against the rear hull. His body felt like an invisible elephant just sat on him and wouldn't get off. G-forces. He guessed it would be worse if Colt hadn't given him this spacesuit to put on. Good foresight on his part. He might have to give him a bonus when they got home.

If they got home in one piece.

The _Silbervogel_ pointed straight up. The G-forces increased. Now it felt like two elephants sat on Duke's chest.

Another roar exploded around him. A giant boot kicked the rocketship in the rear. It streaked faster and higher into the sky. Duke felt his cheeks rippling. The corners of his eyes flickered between gray and black.

After an eternity, the roar dissipated. The rocketship felt like it was slowing down.

And Duke floated off the deck.

"Oh my God." Colt drifted out of the closet, a huge smile on his face. "Oh my God. We're in outer space. This is . . . this is a dream."

"Well quit dreaming and join me in the real world, the one where these Nazi lunatics are gonna drop nukes on Moscow and start World War Three."

The smile faded from Colt. "Oh yeah. I guess we oughta do something about it."

"Yeah," said Duke. "We oughta."

They pushed off the hull and drifted into the _Silbervogel's _mid-section. Duke checked the ladder to the cockpit, in case someone came down. All clear. He then glanced below him. Two canisters a bit larger than the average refrigerator rested in what had to be the bomb bay. A chill went through his body. It was rather unnerving to be this close to nukes.

"Wow," Colt spoke in a whisper.

Duke looked over. The ex-Marine pilot stared out the window. Duke opened his mouth to tell him to focus. What he saw outside left in too in awe to speak.

The blue and white sphere of Earth passed below them. Duke gazed at it, unblinking. He remembered being impressed at all the photos and TV images the astronauts had taken of the world from space. But seeing it for himself . . . no mere picture could do it proper justice. Earth was truly beautiful.

_It won't be for much longer._

The practical side of Duke's mind reasserted itself. The Nazis would have to return to Earth's atmosphere to drop their payload, otherwise it would simply float off into space. If they succeeded, Earth would not look the way it did now.

He placed a hand on the side of the fuselage and pushed. Instead of going forward, he drifted to the left. Colt put a hand on his boot and gave him a shove.

"Thanks." He floated closer to the stairs. A quivering sensation went through his stomach. Duke had heard that some astronauts got nauseous in zero gravity. He gritted his teeth. The last thing he needed was to throw up. If the Nazis didn't hear him, they'd sure as hell smell it.

He grabbed ladder's railing and looked up. He couldn't see the cockpit, but could hear voices coming from it.

"We're about to complete our first orbit, _Herr Oberst."_

"Good."

Duke recognized the voice. Colonel von Geyer. He wondered if psycho buddy, Hoffman, was with him.

"Benzing," von Geyer continued. "Go back and make final preparations to drop the payload."

"_Jawohl, Herr Oberst."_

"Dammit," Duke cursed under his breath. He waved for Colt to get out of sight, then tried to push himself around the ladder. He could hide alongside it, jump this Benzing guy and take him down quickly.

Gravity, or the lack thereof, wouldn't cooperate.

Duke tried to swing himself to the right. It felt like he was swimming in molasses. Instead dropping behind the ladder, his legs floated higher in the air. Try as he might, he couldn't lower himself.

_How the hell do the astronauts do this?_

A head poked out of the opening that led to the cockpit. Duke looked into the eyes of a narrow-faced, dark-haired man. Benzing, the bombardier, he assumed.

The two men stared at one another. Benzing's eyes widened.

"Colonel! The Americans are on board!"

"What?" blurted von Geyer.

"Dammit!"

Duke gripped the railing with both hands and launched himself forward. He bounced off the hull and took a swipe at Benzing. The bombardier had already ducked back into the cockpit. Duke pushed off, trying to propel himself up. His chest tightened, expecting to see a gun pointed at his face.

Instead he saw Hoffman floating toward him.

The assassin slammed into Duke's chest. Both men tumbled over the ladder and back toward the mid-section.

"Get to the cockpit!" He shouted to Colt. "Secure the cockpit!"

Hoffman's hands slid around Duke's throat. He rammed the heel of his palm just under the German's right eye. Hoffman grimaced and leaned back. Duke punched him in the mouth. The blow didn't seem to have the same force as usual. Damn zero gravity. Every move seemed like slow motion.

Hoffman began floating away from Duke. He kicked the East German in the chest, launching him back to the ladder.

Duke floated over the bomb bay. He tried to wave his arms to stop himself, but failed.

Two pairs of legs spiraled toward the front of the rocketship. Colt and Benzing were locked together, tumbling through the air. They bounced off the hull and continued floating, punching and clawing at one another.

Hoffman braced himself against the ladder and went for his belt. Duke swallowed. He imagined a pistol coming up and blasting him, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it!

Instead, Hoffman produced a knife with a thin stiletto blade. The choice of weapon surprised Duke, until he glanced around the _Silbervogel. _What if a bullet penetrated the hull while they were in outer space?

_It wouldn't be good, that's for sure._

Hoffman launched himself off the ladder. He floated straight at Duke.

That's when he drifted past the entrance to the rear compartment. Duke grabbed the door frame. He straightened up.

Hoffman slashed with his knife. Duke twisted to the side. The blade missed. Hoffman's momentum caused him to spin.

Duke punched him in the lower back. Hoffman grunted and floated farther away.

Instinct took over for Duke. You didn't wait around for the other guy to attack. You seized the initiative and went after him.

He pushed off the door frame and floated toward Hoffman, arms extended. For a brief moment, Duke wondered if he looked like George Reeves from the old _Superman _TV show.

Hoffman twisted around. Duke plowed into him. Hoffman slammed into the hull. Duke reached for the Stasi agent's wrist. He squeezed as hard as he could and looked into the other man's face, expecting to see pain.

Hoffman just grinned.

He then opened his mouth and bit Duke's neck.

Duke growled and punched Hoffman in the side. The East German pulled his face out of Duke's neck. This time when he smiled, blood stained his teeth.

"Sick son-of-a-bi-"

The knife came down. Duke raised an arm to block it. Cold steel sank into his skin, followed by burning pain. He let out an anguished growl and pushed away from Hoffman. Gobs of blood floated in the air between the two men.

Duke gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to clutch his wounded arm. He needed to be ready for Hoffman's next move. He also cursed himself for dropping his MP45 back at the tunnel. While he couldn't risk gunfire inside the rocketship, he could have at least used it as a club. Going into a knife fight with your bare hands was not the brightest of ideas.

Hoffman grinned, held the knife in front of him and pushed off the hull.

Duke waved his injured arm in front of him. More gobs of blood spilled out of the wound. They floated in the air, some in little marble-sized balls, others in thin, wavy lines.

Duke twisted to the left. He tried kicking his legs to put some distance between him and Hoffman. It didn't work.

The blade missed Duke by inches. The floating stream of blood smacked Hoffman in the face. One gob struck him in the eye. Hoffman grimaced.

Duke rammed both palms into the Stasi agent's shoulder. He rolled on his back, and kept rolling across the compartment. Duke found himself drifting toward the ladder. To his left, Colt hit Benzing with a slo-mo right cross.

A rumble went through the _Silbervogel. _It shuddered. Duke glanced out the window. Earth loomed closer. A bright orange glow formed on the right wing. The air around him grew warmer. The black void of space vanished, replaced by the blue and white of Earth.

The _Silbervogel _was re-entering the atmosphere.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	20. Chapter 20

Duke crashed onto the deck. Pain shot through his body. He gritted his teeth and pushed up. The pain took a backseat to a big realization.

Gravity had returned to the _Silbervogel._ He could finally fight like normal.

Hoffman, it appeared, also realized it. The Stasi assassin was on his feet, coiled like a rattlesnake, ready to strike.

Duke brought his arms up, grimacing at the burning sensation coming from his left arm. The blood from the knife wound no longer floated in the air. It just trickled down his forearm.

They circled one another, looking for an opening. Duke glimpsed Benzing slam Colt against the hull. Not much he could do to help the pilot. All his concentration had to be on Hoffman. He had to end this fight quickly, before those bombs fell on Moscow.

Hoffman leapt forward and slashed. Duke jumped back. Hoffman slashed again. Again, Duke avoided it. He spun to his side and kicked. His toe clipped Hoffman's side. The Stasi assassin stumbled back.

Someone gasped on the other side of the _Silbervogel. _Duke glanced over. Benzing was sprawled on the deck. Colt stradled him, his MP45 pressed against the Nazi's throat. He gripped the rifle's barrel and stock and pulled back, choking Benzing.

Again Duke and Hoffman circled one another. The vibrations that had pummeled the _Silbervogel _subsided. How much longer before they were over Moscow?

Duke stepped to the right, his back to the bomb bay. He had no more time for this whole feeling out process. He had to make a move, now.

His move was to stand still.

He sensed Hoffman preparing to lunge. Duke wouldn't be surprised if the Stasi assassin expected him to move left or right to dodge the stab, and no doubt he'd be ready to adjust.

Hoffman charged.

Duke did something he doubted Hoffman expected. He dropped to his knees and curled up in a ball.

Hoffman tripped over him. He soared overhead and into the bomb bay. Duke heard a sickening _thunk_ of flesh and bone against metal. He turned to find Hoffman lying across one of the bombs. His head rested against the other. Blood stained the casing. By some miracle, the East German stirred.

Duke rushed around to the other side. He grabbed Hoffman's head and slammed it against the bomb casing once . . . twice . . . three times. His body went into spasms.

He slammed Hoffman's head against the bomb a fourth time. A fifth time. A sixth time. Blood poured from his skull. The spasms stopped. Duke felt for a pulse on Hoffman's neck. There was none.

He caught the glint of the knife through the space between the bombs. Duke leaned over, stretching his arm. His fingers brushed against the hilt. He groaned and reached down further. He gripped the knife with his thumb and index finger and pulled it up.

Colt withdrew the rifle from Benzing's throat. The bombardier's face smacked against the deck. He, too, was dead.

Colt sprinted up the ladder. Duke got to his feet and followed.

"All right, you goosestepping assholes," said Colt. "I'm in charge of this baby now! Do what I say and I won't blow your brains out."

Duke made it up the ladder in time to see von Geyer grin. "You're really going to shoot us? Think about what will happen if you hit the window or the control panel. You will die along with the rest of us."

Colt scowled, the barrel of his MP45 pointed at the pilot. He drew deep, angry breaths, then started to lower the rifle.

"Colt, don't-"

The pilot jammed the control wheel to the right. The _Silbervogel_ went into a hard bank. Colt tumbled across the cockpit. The MP45 flew out of his hands. Duke crashed against the hull. Pain hammered his shoulder. He fell hard on the ladder.

Duke clutched the nearest rung and pulled himself forward. He crawled back into the cockpit. The _Silbervogel _straightened out as von Geyer punched Colt in the mouth. He fell down, blood covering his lips.

Von Geyer stared out the window. "Are we over the Soviet Union?"

"_Jawohl, Herr Oberst," _replied the pilot. "We'll be coming up on Vilnius any moment."

Vilnius. Duke recalled the facts about the city. Capital of the Lithuanian SSR. Population, roughly 372,000.

"Release the bombs as soon as we're over the city."

Duke's chest tightened. Without the bombardier, they couldn't accurately drop the bombs. Not that it really mattered. If they exploded anywhere over Vilnius, there would still be thousands of deaths. The Russians would believe the US was responsible and retaliate.

He saw the co-pilot's hands move across the control panel. Gripping his knife, Duke launched himself into the cockpit.

Von Geyer came out of his seat and clotheslined him. Duke dropped on his back, his hand still clenched around the knife. From the other compartment, he heard a screaming rush of wind.

The bomb bay doors had opened.

"Override completed," reported the co-pilot after he flicked a few switches. "I have control of the bombs."

"Acknowledged," said the co-pilot. "Estimate forty miles to target."

Duke pushed himself up. Fifty miles. At the speed this rocketship was going they'd be over Vilnius very soon. He pushed himself up.

Von Geyer kicked him in the side, then stomped on his stomach. A crushing pain seized Duke's torso. He saw the Stasi colonel draw his leg back for another kick.

A primal roar tore through the cockpit. Colt tackled von Geyer. Both men tumbled over the seat behind the co-pilot.

"Prepare to release bombs," ordered the pilot.

"Ready to release bombs." The co-pilot's index finger hovered over a switch.

Duke sprang to his feet. The co-pilot turned just as he threw himself across the cockpit. The East German's eyes widened in surprise.

Duke drove the knife into the co-pilot's hand. He screamed in pain. His finger hovered centimeters away from the release switch. Duke yanked the co-pilot's hand away. The pilot reached over and struck him in the side. Duke kicked him in the shoulder.

The _Silbervogel _jerked to the left.

Colt and von Geyer rolled across the floor. Duke clutched the co-pilot's arm, keeping it away from the switch.

The rocketship leveled off. Were they still on course for Vilnius? Even if not, there were still plenty of cities between here and Moscow they could bomb.

Duke pulled his knife out of the co-pilot's blood-soaked hand. On instinct, he drew it up to his chest and held it with his good hand.

A fatal mistake.

Duke plunged the knife into co-pilot's chest. His eyes bulged. Blood streamed down the front of his spacesuit. Duke stabbed him again, and again. The co-pilot slumped in his seat. His eyes glazed over. Seconds later the rise and fall of his chest ceased.

Something clicked behind Duke. He checked over his shoulder. The pilot unbuckled himself from his seat. He leapt to his feet and went for the release switch.

Duke spun around. He buried the knife in the pilot's shoulder.

The _Silbervogel _rolled right. Both Duke and the pilot were thrown against the side of the cockpit. Colt and Von Geyer tumbled next to them.

G-forces pressed down on Duke. He held the knife hilt in a death grip and worked the blade up and down inside the pilot's shoulder. The East German cried out. Duke pulled out the knife and shoved it below the pilot's chin. Blood flowed over his fist and down the pilot's throat. He emitted sound somewhere between a choke and a gargle. A minute later his body went limp.

Duke shoved the corpse off him. He saw Colt climbing around the co-pilot's seat, reaching for the controls. The _Silbervogel_ continued to plummet.

"_Nein!"_ Von Geyer grabbed Colt's ankles

"Get off, ya fat kraut!"

Fighting the Gs, Duke rolled on his side. Von Geyer's face strained, holding Colt's ankle's as tight as possible.

"The Reich's been dead for twenty-six years. Time you joined it."

Duke rammed the blade into von Geyer's right eye. The Stasi colonel's mouth fell open. His body remained frozen for several seconds. His grip on Colt's ankles loosened. He toppled on his side.

Colt slipped into the co-pilot's seat and grabbed the controls. He yanked them left and pulled up. The _Silbervogel _rose higher and higher. A few minutes later, the rocketship straightened out. The heaviness of the G-forces evaporated from Duke's body.

"Okay." Colt nodded. "I think we're gonna live."

"Close those bomb bay doors," Duke ordered, then fell into the chair von Geyer had occupied.

Colt looked over the console, then flicked one of the switches. The rush of wind no longer came from the rocketship's mid-section. Just to be sure, Duke went down the ladder and checked the bomb bay. Relief washed over him when he saw both canisters still there.

He shook his head and chuckled softly. All these years he'd been fighting the commies, now here he was, on a Nazi rocketship, risking his life to save them.

_To save the whole world, actually._

Duke went back to the cockpit.

"Check and see if there're any maps around here," said Colt.

Duke went around the cockpit, opening every compartment he came across. The fourth one held a collection of large maps. He unrolled a couple and laid them out on the console. Colt peered at them as he flew the _Silbervogel. _He then scanned outside, then at the compass, at the airspeed indicator, then at the maps.

"If I'm right, we should be over Belarus, heading south toward the Ukraine."

"You think the Russians picked us up on radar?" asked Duke.

"Maybe. Even if they did, I'm flying too high for any of their interceptors to reach us, or any of their SAMs."

"Yeah, Francis Gary Powers thought that, too." Duke referred to the U-2 pilot shot down by a surface-to-air missile over Russia and captured in 1960.

"I think you saw for yourself this baby can fly a lot higher than Powers' U-2." Colt grinned wide. "Man, I can't believe I'm flying an actual spaceship. Not some cramped, claustrophobic capsule. A real damn spaceship. Eat your heart out, Alan Shepard."

"Well do you have any idea where you can land this 'real damn spaceship' so we can collect our five million?"

"Actually I do. If I head east, we should have enough fuel to reach Kadena Air Base . . . I hope."

"You hope? That's reassuring."

Colt shrugged. "Don't worry. I always get us down in one piece, don't I?"

The _Silbervogel _streaked along the edge of the upper atmosphere. It wasn't long before it began to descend. When they broke through the clouds, Duke saw the crocked form of the Japanese Islands in the distance.

Colt slowed the rocketship as the Ryukyu Islands to the south of Japan grew larger. Soon they'd be on the ground. Merrick would get his rocketship and they'd get their five million dollars.

"Uh-oh." Colt leaned closer to the window. "I think we've got company."

Duke saw two dark shapes approaching. Within seconds they morphed into elongated jet fighters with large intakes, slightly bent wings and two engines.

McDonnell Douglas F-4 Phantom IIs.

The jets streaked past them. Duke tensed. Would they fire on them? They didn't know what this damn thing was, or that the CIA wanted it.

He relaxed some when one of the Phantoms pulled alongside the _Silbervogel. _The backseater pointed at Duke, then at him, then to the front, then back to Duke, his finger in the shape of a gun. Duke gave him a thumbs up, signaling he understood the message.

_Follow us. No funny business or we shoot you down._

Colt didn't try any funny business. He kept the _Silbervogel's _nose pointed at the runway. With the Phantoms flanking them, Colt touched down without incident. When the rocketship rolled to a stop, he let out a sigh and turned to Duke. "Well, we're back on American soil. Or at least, on American air base soil."

Duke grunted. "Somehow I doubt they'll welcome us with cold beers and a steak dinner."

"Maybe they'll surprise us."

The two unbuckled themselves and opened the exit hatch on the side of the cockpit.

A dozen jeeps screeched to a halt near the _Silbervogel. _US Air Force Security Police jumped out of them, aiming M-16 rifles and .45 semi-auto pistols at Duke and Colt. Both men put up their hands.

Colt sighed. "Okay, so maybe they won't surprise us."

_**NEXT: THE CONCLUSION**_


	21. Chapter 21

_Kadena Air Base, Okinawa _

_Two days later_

"I'm bored," Colt uttered from the top bunk of their cell.

"I pretty much figured that out after the first thirty times you said it," replied Duke, who sat on the edge of the lower bunk.

"Well you'd think someone would stop by to interrogate us. Like a Nazi rocketship suddenly showing up with two nukes and five dead guys at an Air Force base is an every day thing?"

"Someone'll be by to talk to us."

"When?"

"I don't know," Duke snapped. "I don't have the CIA's appointment book."

Duke stared between the cell's bars into the bland, gray hall of the stockade. The Security Police had marched them in here minutes after they landed. No one on base had spoken with them, except to tell them it was time to shower or time for meals. He suspected they were under orders from the CIA, the Pentagon or some other government agency not to converse with them until a "proper interrogation" could be done.

Well, it had been two days. You'd think the Agency would have sent someone here by now.

Duke grabbed a copy of _Stars and Stripes _the guards had left for him and Colt this morning. He'd already read it front to back.

_Might as well read it again. It's not like I've got anything else to do._

He was halfway through an article on page six about a large exercise by the 82nd Airborne in North Carolina when a stocky Security Police sergeant came up to the cell. "On your feet, you two. You're free."

"Hot damn!" Colt leapt off the top bunk. "Who do we have to thank?"

"That would be me."

The sergeant stepped aside for the owner of the gravely voice. Duke folded his arms as Merrick came into view.

"About damn time."

"It's not like it's a short trip from Washington to here," said the CIA man. "Come on. I've got a plane on the tarmac."

Duke threw the newspaper on the lower bunk and walked out of the cell. Colt followed, waving to the sergeant. "Thanks for the hospitality."

The three walked through another cell door, then to the front desk, where Merrick signed out Duke and Colt.

"So you saw it?" Duke asked Merrick once they were outside.

"Yeah, I did. Pretty damn impressive. The Nazis may have been rat bastards, but they had some brilliant engineers working for them. Good job getting it out of East Germany."

"Thanks. What about the rest of my team?"

"They all made it back to West Germany safe and sound," Merrick answered. "Even picked up a defector along the way. They're still being debriefed, but they should be stateside soon."

Duke nodded as they neared Merrick's plane, a Gulfstream II transport jet. They climbed up the ladder and into the passenger area. The seats were cushioned and offered plenty of leg room. Duke sank into his seat, relishing the comfort.

Shortly after takeoff, Merrick went to a small refrigerator in the front and pulled out three bottles of Budweiser. He gave one to Duke and the other to Colt.

"To a successful mission." Merrick grinned and raised his bottle.

"And a profitable one," said Duke.

Merrick snickered. "Don't worry. The remaining five million is all in your Swiss Bank account."

Duke nodded. "Now I will drink to that."

He did just that, downing half his beer before saying, "Woulda been nice if you'd told us what to look for in the first place. We might have found it sooner, even come up with a plan instead of having to improvise."

"And what if you and your team didn't find the _Silbervogel?" _replied Merrick. "You'd all be walking around with knowledge that there was a spaceship built by the Nazis two decades before the first manned spaceflight. What if you were captured somewhere down the line and spilled the beans about it? We couldn't take the risk of anyone else knowing about it, or getting there hands on it. We had to deliberately keep you in the dark."

"Secrets within secrets," said Colt. "Typical CIA."

Merrick just grinned at him.

"Well, now we do know about it," Duke told him.

"Which is why you two and the rest of the team will sign non-disclosure forms to never talk about this incident with anyone."

Duke nodded slightly. Just part of doing business. Besides, who in the civilian world would believe him if he went on about Nazi rocketships?

"Brezhnev and his buddies in the Kremlin probably know we've got the rocketship," Duke pointed out.

"I don't doubt it," said Merrick. "But do you really think Brezhnev's going to admit he had a spaceship built back in World War Two stolen right out from under his nose, first by some Nazi sympathizers, then by us, 'imperialist American pigs'?"

"So now what do we do with the thing?"

"I'm sure the eggheads at NASA will study it, make upgrades. You know, it does cost a lot to launch a rocket into space. Think of all the money we'd save having a ship we can use over and over again."

Duke nodded. "So how are you going to get it back to the US?"

"Most likely it'll be dismantled, shipped back and rebuilt," answered Merrick. "Maybe at Vandenberg, maybe at Wright-Pat." He gave the nickname for Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Ohio.

"Wright-Pat?" Colt sat up straight in his seat. "I read in some books that's where the government takes all the crashed UFOs it recovers."

His eyes widened. "It is true! You are keeping UFOs there. And I bet aliens helped the Nazis build that rocketship. Admit it. Admit it!"

Duke smacked his forehead and closed his eyes. _This is gonna be a long flight._

_**THE END**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_The _Silbervogel_ was actually designed by Austrian aerospace scientist Eugene Sänger as a sub-orbital bomber during WWII. The Luftwaffe did provide funds for its construction, but no prototype was ever built._

**AUTHOR'S NOTE II: **_For more great action/adventure with a sci-fi twist, check out my original novel "Dark Wings," available from amazon and as an ebook on smashwords._


End file.
